StarFox: Cohesion
by The Psyche
Summary: With the strength of the StarFox team rattled after another war has waged in the Lylat System, powerful figures refuse to waste the opportunity to make the legendary team a target. Elsewhere, a certain individual plays a deadly game he cannot escape from.
1. To Skin A Fox

**Fox McCloud – Sector X Airspace**

The brilliant lemon glow that the nebula cloud in the distance of Sector X emitted filled a region of space in which countless stories of adventure, mystery and war drifted by. The only evidence left to put proof in those stories was the eerie streams of floating debris wandering through space. Most of it was comprised of ship parts – mainly burned out sublight engines, scorched and dismembered star-fighter wings and an array of different hull plating, but there were also small pockets of pilot clothing, empty space helmets and ejected flight seats – those pieces of memento were where the stories spawned from. And most of those stories' protagonists were dead.

It was only truly haunting when you stopped and looked at it; when you realized that each one of those wings was torn from a star-fighter by a laser blast aimed to kill, and all of those flight suits were from the pilots that never got home. This was the conclusion that Fox McCloud had come to whilst sitting in the cockpit of his Arwing II star-fighter. His father's ship could have very well been drifting somewhere through here, but he'd never know. Fox seemed lost in a trance, but he came to his senses when the communications link crackled with static. His emerald eyes widened, his muzzle twitched and suddenly Fox seemed alive again. His fur, consisting of tiny hairs colored white and brown trailing down his face from the top of his head seemed to quiver once he was brought to his senses. As the radio's static morphed into a mechanical assortment of spaced single-syllables, Fox knew ROB-64 was trying to get through to him.

"Captain, this is ROB-64. The scanners here show no signs of any remnant fighters but there was a faint signal picked up only a minute ago at the most."

Fox could hear ROB's mechanical fingers attacking an operations board in the background.

"Thanks for keeping me up to speed, ROB" Fox said quickly back through the radio. "Fox out."

It was silent again, but Fox had a feeling somewhere in his stomach that it wasn't going to last for long. He was convinced that the faint signal ROB spoke of earlier was a small star-fighter trying to keep hidden under a piece of rubble somewhere in the sea of space wreckage. Still, Fox stared forward into the nothingness, comforted by the serene feeling he always found sitting in a star-fighter cockpit by himself. Fox lifted his eyebrows and his green eyes rolled upward to take a quick glance at the heads-up display before him. No dots on the scanners – nothing. No warning beeps. No flashing lights.

_Yup, something's definitely going to pop out at me in a minute_ he thought. He pulled himself together by grabbing a paw and swooshing it through the fur on his scalp, and then grabbed the controls of his Arwing II and made sure his feet were secure on the pitch and roll pedals. He fought the thoughts of his father out of his head, he fought the thoughts of lost friends out of his head and went into combat mode.

And he was just in time, too.

There was nothing appearing on Fox's scanners, but only by chance the burning light of the Lylat System's central sun, Solar, caught a reflection on the starboard side of his transparent cockpit window. An oddly shaped ship flew toward the Arwing II, and although awkward it seemed quite well armed. Fox waited for the unsuspecting pilot to try a missile lock. Two seconds passed, and there it was. Fox's systems in the cockpit started bleeping and blipping like crazy, but the captain had everything under control. The missile from the brown star-fighter with replacement and scorched plating all over it launched a missile followed by a bright red tracer.

_That's close enough_ Fox decided, and immediately brought his ship up in a half roll, but then propelled forward in a drastic move toward the attacking fighter. Clearly surprised, the amateur tried a downward dive, but Fox laughed as that was the worst move he could possibly make. With the enemy ship clear in his crosshairs, Fox pumped the lasers mounted on each wing of his ship. Bursts of neon blue ultra-hot flame hit the back of the ship, and it started to wobble all over the place. The Arwing II slipped its outstretched white wings gracefully between two large charcoal black pieces of wreckage, with the tip of the blue nipper-shaped trapezoid mounts narrowly scraping through - but Fox had accounted for the lack of space. The nose of the Arwing II didn't stray far from the stern of the enemy fighter, even through the densest areas of floating debris. It wasn't long before Fox had another couple of clear shots on his foe, but when he took them, this time he noticed a glowing turquoise shielding protecting the craft from the laser bolts. Fox scowled. Nothing was easy in life anymore.

The thug obviously wasn't the greatest pilot in the Lylat System, but he was certainly driving a warhorse. The chunky star-fighter was equipped with two laser cannons, one on each side (as far as Fox could tell), a hidden missile launcher located somewhere on the underside of the craft and also packed a pretty touch shield of some kind.

_And I didn't even feel like flying properly_, Fox moaned in his head. Then a thought struck him. He made sure his radio was open to ROB and spoke up.

"ROB, I have a plan. If we can capture this guy, he might give us some indication of why the _Great Fox_ has become such a target lately" Fox said quickly, keeping his mind on weaving in and out of large bits and piece of a destroyed Cornerian battle-cruiser. It wasn't long before ROB's voice came back to him.

"Suggestion, sir?" the robot asked.

"I know you're powered down right now ROB, but I need you to charge up the EMP cannon" Fox instructed with urgency in his voice.

"Affirmative, charging electro-magnetic pulse cannon."

"Alright then. Let me know when you're at one hundred percent. I think this guy's shield will need a full blast. Fox out."

Now the goal had changed a little bit – instead of hailing laser fire onto the unknown ship, Fox would have to make himself appear vulnerable. All he needed was an explosion, a thump, anything to give the idea away that the Arwing II had been harmed and left in poor shape. Without further ado, Fox yanked up on his controls and sent his craft shooting in the opposite direction. And just as soon as his new course was set, the enemy started to circle around and keep an eye on him from a distance. Flying directly toward the center of the lemon and lime colored nebula millions of light years ahead, Fox awaited the foe to take a shot at his craft. But he had been too quick, and the enemy was out of range. Fox then made a decision he knew he'd regret later, and inspected the debris in front of him, hanging in space. He spotted a nice flat chunk of metal that didn't look like it would hurt the Arwing II's wings much, and slowly drifted off-course toward it. Fox didn't waste any time, he scraped his port wing along the sheet of metal, ripping a black engraved valley into it right across from one side to the other. Next, Fox died down his sublight engines a bit in an attempt to convince the inexperienced pilot behind him that the Arwing II had taken a bit of damage. It worked.

_Sucker_. The brown oval accompanied by hexagonal wings was soon on Fox's tail, summoning a flurry of sparkling crimson rain. The laser bolts were repelled for the most part by a barrel-rolling Arwing II, and thankfully the gravity-well system in the ship was so accurate that Fox didn't find himself vomiting out of dizziness. The laser bolts hit the Arwing II's spinning wings with force, but however were countered with a faster amount of force, sending the projectiles crashing through debris on either side of the warring star-fighters.

Fox kept one eye on his HUD display, and soon he spotted the _Great Fox_ come into range. It wasn't the mother-ship it used to be, but the Star-Fox flagship still had a little bit of punch left in it. Fox's only doubt was that the rookie behind him would chicken out upon seeing the _Great Fox_, but it seemed that overconfidence had got the better of his enemy. The idea of a wounded Star-Fox fighter within grasp was too much of an opportunity for any thug to pass by – it would never happen again, and you'd be dead. And so becoming more desperate for the kill, the enemy ship increased velocity and scattered laser blasts in a frenzy, doing _anything_ to try and bring down Fox's fighter. And he was giving Fox one hell of a time, the experienced captain certainly had his hands full. Just a couple more klicks however, and Fox knew the whole thing would be over. The silhouette of the bulky beetle-looking mother-ship became larger and larger, but there was still no transmission from ROB. Fox slapped down on his communication controls and spoke rather quickly into the radio.

"ROB, tell me you're close. We're not gonna' get another chance at this."

"Electro-magnetic pulse cannon is eighty-percent charged. Fire can commence at any time."

"No, no! I told you! We _need_ one hundred percent capacity! This guy's shields are tough, I don't want to risk anything less!" Fox stressed.

"Affirmative. Will resume charging."

"ROB, I'm about ten klicks off. This is going to be close."

Before he had finished his words properly, a screeching emitted from Fox's HUD and he looked up to see a projectile depicted on his scanners heading toward him. It was too fast to avoid. Fox snapped his jaw together as he prepared for impact, and then felt the shudder of the missile hitting his engines. The Arwing rocked up and down and a wrestling contest with the control yolk began. Fox couldn't keep his nose on-course, and a handful of laser blasts came tumbling into the back of the craft. A loud explosion followed by sparks hailing out from behind the flight seat as well as a urgent screeching from the HUD alerted Fox that his shields were out.

"ROB I'm in trouble here!" Fox cried. Before he gained his coordination, Fox caught the grey arc of the upper hull of the _Great Fox_ pass by his port side, and seconds later he spotted the EMP cannon dead in the middle of the ship's bow. "Fire!" Fox screamed.

"Firing" ROB responded less than a second later. Fox brought his wounded Arwing II up in a loop, and before the enemy craft could follow through the motion, he was caught in a giant glowing amethyst beam expelled from the _Great Fox_. Sizzling electro-magnetic rods crawled across the star-fighter like a swarm of space-locust, and the whole craft stopped dead in its tracks. Fox's ship curved around in an arc and rolled underneath the _Great Fox_, disappearing into the loading bay. It was followed by flames and smoke which quickly disappeared in the vacuum of space. A small portion of the enemy ship ejected from the rest of the craft in an attempt at escape, but ROB already had plans to stop _that_.

Some few minutes later, Fox McCloud entered the cramped bridge of the _Great Fox_. Computer monitors hogged the walls, and where what should have been walk-able floor in the middle of the bridge, were detailed holograms showing the layout of Sector X. ROB was standing in one corner of the bridge next to starboard viewport which wrapped right around the front of the ship. Crouched below ROB was the thug that thought he could defeat Fox McCloud, bound by magnetic cuffs around his wrists and ankles. The threatening grey rods that ROB had for arms repeatedly pounded the ruffian on the top of the head until he stopped struggling. Fox wasn't sure if he was supposed to, but he found the sight of his old robotic counterpart having his ways with a common thug quite amusing.

"ROB, that's enough. I think he'll be seeing stars for days to come" Fox remarked as he headed toward the two of them. ROB's blocky head with the main feature of it being a red bar where his eyes would have been, rotated to face Fox, and nodded.

"Affirmative. Enemy restrained."

Fox kneeled down to the simian pilot. He was young, he was in bad shape thanks to ROB, and he was stupid.

"Who are you?" Fox asked firmly. With the tone the captain had, the ruffian knew that he wasn't playing around; e_specially_ since he had tried to kill him.

"I'm just a pilot!" he cried. His panting breaths and slippery, sweaty forehead was a clear indication of his fear.

"What's your name?"

"... Alfa… Alonso."

There was hesitation in the simian's voice, but he knew he didn't stand a chance at resisting questions in the middle of Sector X with Fox McCloud crouching in front of him.

"Who do you work for?"

"Nobody!" he called out. "I'm a… I'm a _bounty hunter_."

Fox's eyebrows shot up. Now _that_ was an answer he wasn't expecting.

"A _bounty _hunter?" Fox questioned with disbelief, "A _bounty _hunter?"

"Yeah. You've got a price on your head. And it ain't too shabby, to tell you the truth" Alfa said more quietly. Fox grabbed the shoulders of the rookie, and squeezed his fingers into his shoulder blades.

"Now _listen_ to me. What bounty? How much? Who? Who set it?"

"I don't know… There's no use in asking me that! This gang leader… he stays away from names, he doesn't… He doesn't deal that way, you know?"

Alfa's voice had a touch more confidence in it, he felt he could relate to Fox a bit more. He was wrong. The lighting of the _Great Fox_'s bridge was gloomy, but Fox resigned his arms from holding onto Alfa's shoulders, and stood up so a yellow light of a hologram caught his face.

"Why?"

Fox's voice was cold.

"You're at your weakest, right now, Fox… You've got two members in the legendary Star-Fox team. _Two_. That's nothing. Four's not a great deal – but when you take it down to _two…_"

Fox felt the reality of his situation sink in, and his eyes veered away from the shaking simian pilot. He stared out of the viewport, and wandered closer to it, resting his hands on the top of a computer console. "… And… and here you are… Wondering why everyone wants a piece of you… _Fox McCloud_…"

Alfa's tone had changed, it had gotten bitter. Fox wouldn't tolerate it, and once again grabbed the bounty hunter by the shoulders, and brought him up to stand. He then thumped Alfa against the bridge wall several times, and looked him in the eye.

"Give me a _name_, bounty hunter" Fox ordered. His fangs started to appear out the corners of his mouth.

Alfa tried to back further into the corner as he replied.

"The Luperium… That's all I know! I swear! They don't use names!"

Fox dropped one arm and used the other to propel Alfa over the bridge floor. His facial features relaxed a little and he looked at ROB.

"ROB, let him go" he said. Fox leaned down to the man draped across the floor of the bridge once more while he wriggled about. "But get this straight. If I ever see you and your ship again, in space, I _will_ shoot you down."

Alfa Alonso didn't have much trouble getting his star-fighter back online, but the weapons were still disabled. After he left Sector X under the close surveillance of both Fox and ROB, the two turned their attention toward the health of the _Great Fox_. The transport ship, which was a replacement for the original battle-cruiser, was a delicate base of operations. It had low shield power and the hull couldn't withstand much laser damage at all. But it was all Fox had, it was the best he could afford.

"ROB, did you finish your repairs?" Fox asked aboard the bridge while studying blueprints of the _Great Fox_'s bowels.

"Repairs complete. Sector X proved useful for finding such items."

"I'm still not happy about what that bounty hunter had to say. No wonder we've been under so many attacks recently – no wonder we're here in Sector X, trying to repair the ship."

"Yes sir" was all ROB could come up with. Fox let out a sigh as he decided he couldn't put up with having one-sided conversations much longer.

"Is Falco done yet?" Fox asked.

"Negative. There has been no response from Falco to the transmissions I have sent" ROB said.

"Damn. I knew he'd run into trouble. ROB, take us to the outskirts of this region."

"Affirmative._ Great Fox_ on-course to co-ordinates three-zero, two-nine, three-eight, three-two."

And with that command, the bulky Star-Fox command-ship committed to a slow change of direction and accelerated toward the edge of Sector X.


	2. Bird Business

**Falco Lombardi – _Corsair _Space-Station, Sector X**

If there was one thing in the universe that Falco Lombardi hated the most, it was deception. As a member of the avian race, he was disgraced that his former companion would resort to such measures.

Standing too close with a gun barrel etched against Falco's breastbone, was a hired gun that obviously didn't know where the line was. He was Cornerian, some dog that looked like a fresh reject from the army. Falco himself found the nerve of his friend very smug, and figured it wouldn't do him much good by the time it was time for the Star-Fox pilot to leave. Towering over the guard, Falco's eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses as he stared his opponent down.

_This little reunion was supposed to be clean. I guess that's just not Cass's way of doing things these days_ Falco thought to himself. His feathery blue hands were hidden in the pockets of his black synthetic-rawhide jacket, casually resting on the butts of two laser blasters, one in each pocket. As Falco leaned toward the mercenary standing in front of him ever-so-slightly, the latter figure seemed to do the opposite, and that's when the avian knew he had the advantage. This hired gun was scared of Falco, and that could only be down to the stories the smaller, but bulkier individual had heard about the pilot over the years. Falco noticed the dog was wearing torn clothes but with heavy armor prepped underneath, so if worst came to worst, he'd have to resort to a headshot. However before the tension between the two was about to snap, Falco's eye peered upward to find three bodies approaching from a doorway in the distance.

"It's alright" a striking female voice called out to her hired bodyguard. "We're old friends" she said with a twisted raise of her voice as she finished her words. Falco's beak curved into a fake smile, and he opened his arms wide and leaned back in a welcoming posture.

"Hi Cass!" he declared nice and loudly. The bodyguard scuttled off, and Cass replaced his position in front of Falco. "Long time no see, huh?"

Falco sounded friendly, but every soul in the room knew the ground was unstable. It was Falco's technique of showing he wasn't afraid of her henchmen – though if they did open fire, he would certainly have his hands full. But managing a pack of trigger-happy amateurs was like playing a tough game of Cornerian Blackhand – it was all about bluffing.

Cass Rico was an elegant avian woman. Her features were a chocolate brown in comparison to Falco's bright blue, and her eyes were colored with a hazel swirl. Seeing Cass's eyes again sent tingles down Falco's spine and lifted the feathers on his back. Never had he seen anything like them; and never had he wanted to see anything like them again. She sported a long brown coat which had frilly white edges to it, and if Falco wasn't too busy thinking about how he was going to get out of there alive, he would have noticed it looked perfect on her. Her black high-heeled boots started to pace back and forth in front of Falco as Cass compiled her words.

"I didn't think I'd ever see much of you again, Falco."

"I was in the neighborhood" he replied quickly.

The two of them stood in the hangar of the compact black space-station on the outskirts of Sector X, with an enormous view of the Lylat System behind them, separated only by an oxygen bubble that kept everyone inside alive. _Corsair _was what the space-station had been named, and it was the home of the infamous locals, the 'Space Hot-Rodders'. It was a large portion of Falco's past, being a member of the gang. He had tried to leave the life of being a common thug behind him, but old friends would pop up every now and then, causing a return of parts from his past that he wanted nothing to do with. When Falco was young, he met Cass Rico through the gang, and the two were only low-life grunts. However they developed a relationship and strived to get to the top of their game, committing more daring acts as time went on. When Falco ran into the Venomian Military for the first time, everything changed, and the avian wanted out. But Cass stayed, and now here she was, the leader of her own criminal organization. The thought of what could have happened between the two saddened Falco.

The hangar was big, there could have been other cronies hiding anywhere with blasters prepared, quite happy to do away with Falco's head if need be. But Falco had a gut feeling deep down inside, that Cass would never give that order. Emotionally, he was not sure who was stronger or weaker – but he knew she couldn't do it. They'd had too much together.

"In the neighborhood, huh?" Cass grinned, making her words a performance for the rest of the gang-members standing around the hangar. That was Cass, always making a show. Inside, Falco had a quick laugh to himself. She wasn't too much dislike Falco in that respect. "How about you cut the pleasantries, fly-boy, and give me some answers."

_Good, now she's serious_. Falco loosened up a bit as Cass walked circles around him.

"Well I said it once Cass and I'll say it again… Our businesses shouldn't mix."

"Agreed" Cass nodded.

"So I'm asking you to stop mixing 'em. Cass, you know I don't have anything in for you, but I need you to play along with the rules we set as well" Falco started. He let out a sigh. He couldn't talk to Cass genuinely like this. Not with guns pointed at him, and not with about seven other sets of ears listening in on the conversation. "Now I don't have a problem with your little illegal racing operation…"

Cass cut him off sharply.

"Oh, so this is what everything's about. _My_ business. You've come to _my_ space-station to tell me all about _my_ business" she chuckled. She raised a feathery hand and stroked it down the front of Falco's chest adoringly. The touch was convincingly enticing, but Falco knew there was nothing behind it but cruel intentions. "You always did like to be calling the shots, didn't you dear?"

Falco was tempted and old wounds emerged when the salt trickled over them, but he shook them out of his head.

"We were stupid kids. I grew out of it. I thought you would too."

"I'm making a _living_ out of it. And judging by word out there on the space drifts, I'm probably doing better than you are" she spitefully interjected. Falco closed his eyes behind his glasses firmly, trying to clear the thoughts of old from his head. That life was behind him now, Falco wasn't a hooligan anymore. Before Falco could make his next move, Cass was quick to foil his plans. "Sometimes Falco I wonder, why you don't come back. We were happy, weren't we? Things were going alright, weren't they?"

Falco wouldn't fall for it.

"Cass, I'm not going to have this conversation with you now. It doesn't mean anything to me, and I _know_ it doesn't mean anything to you with ten of your thugs hanging around. If you want to discuss this like two adults in _private_… I'd be happy too."

Cass took a step back, and her eyes drifted downward as if she was considering Falco's offer. She bit her lower lip, but then slowly shook her head from side to side and added a grin to her act.

"Nope" she said. She gave a friendly slap to one of Falco's jacket pockets where his left hand rested, and then jumped away playfully. "Not with those two pistols on you, honey!"

Falco wanted to drop his head and swear in frustration, but he kept is cool and played his ex-girlfriend's little game.

"Now I know you've been rigging some of the races to rake in a little bit of extra profit… which… just ain't cool" Falco stated. "But the part that gets me _most_ Cass, is that you're creating 'clean-up' work for me. Do you know what that is?"

Cass's eyes widened and she shook her head innocently. "Don't play dumb, Cass. You're anonymously tipping of the Cornerian Defense Forces about events which don't actually exist, and then playing them out somewhere else. I don't mind the gang warfare you cause… the hassle you cause the Cornerians or even the fact that you run a business which is all devised through trickery…"

Falco paused for a moment. He reached out his pocket with his left hand and removed his sunglasses, looking into Cass's dreaded eyes without missing a beat. "But when you waste _my_ time, and when you waste_ Fox's_ time, that's where I start to get ticked off."

"Rest assured Falco you won't have to take anymore contracts from me or any of my people" Cass winked.

"And I don't want to be involved in any false alerts regarding illegal interstellar racing, got it?"

Cass transformed in the blink of an eye. She scowled, her eyes flared, and she caught Falco off-guard. Her voice was menacing as she stepped up close to Falco and hissed rancorously.

"They way I run my business Falco is _my_ business. Now you may think you're some kind of tough guy walking in here and throwing out orders, fly-boy, but I'm warning _you_…"

Falco was frozen still. Cass tilted her head and narrowed her eyes in an evil glare. "… I'm warning _you_, not to tell me how to run my business or that pretty little kitten you're supposed to be in love with… might find herself floating with all the rest of the garbage out there."

Falco Lombardi was close to having two blaster barrels splitting girl's head in two at that point, but previous experience restrained him in his spot. Flashes of his love interest appeared in his mind, and he couldn't fight them out. But Cass couldn't win – Falco's notorious ego was too big to let her win like this. Falco made a physical move – it was risky but it wasn't enough to set the guards off. With his free hand he snatched Cass by the shoulder and brought her in close again. He tilted his head nearer until his beak almost touched her forehead. Blaster pistols were raised all around the hangar and there was a few warning yells, but unless he was shot Falco was going to ignore them. When he did speak to his former companion and friend, his voice was soft and quiet. But there was an edge in it that Cass had never quite heard before. It had caught her by surprise that Falco had the guts to become virulent with her in a counterattack.

"I don't have any limits, Cass" Falco sneered. He violently tugged on her jacket to empower the implications of his words, and he grimaced. "If you get in the way of my work again; you die. If you ever make an attempt on someone's life that's close to me; you die before you even know what hit you."

Falco jarred her backward and she scampered across the hangar floor. "All of you will find yourselves on ice if you ever interfere with Star-Fox again."

Falco was quiet for a moment, letting his sharp words sink into those around him. "Just remember, I can do what you do. Except better, and faster."

Cass was left stunned, and her guards were left stunned. She looked over at her main bodyguard, the Cornerian, and looked as though she was about to give him an acquiescent nod to kill the pilot. It didn't happen – the moment Falco had been counting on had arrived, and the _Great Fox_'s laser cannons levitated in front of the oxygen bubble behind him. The avian relaxed, gave the thugs a wink, and fitted on his sunglasses. "Thanks for your time, guys" he pleasantly said. And with that, Falco approached the edge of the docking bay where the transport passage of the _Great Fox_ gradually extended to.

Falco Lombardi slumped himself down in his chair in the cramped bridge of the _Great Fox_ and let out an epic sigh of relief, accompanied by a silly grin. It seemed that his smile was contagious, as Fox McCloud became infected with his relief. The bleeps and blobs of the bridge reminded Falco that he was home again, safe and sound, and there wasn't a time where he could remember a better feeling. Fox drew his eyes away from Falco as he went back to the holograms on the control board. ROB-64 ignored the actions between the two as he sat at the controls of the _Great Fox_, steering it out of range from the space-station. Not removing his attention from the courses he was plotting, Fox spoke up.

"So I take it everything worked out well in the end" he said with a cocky pitch in his voice. Falco put on one of those smug faces he did so well, and passed off the 'modest but not-so-modest' tone.

"I think she got the message. I left them on their toes."

Fox lowered his voice down to a more serious note.

"Just keep in mind Falco, I'm not going to deal with that double-crossing small-time thug again. If she interferes in…"

"Fox, don't worry. I know you'll clean her up if we see her again. And she knows that too."

Fox hesitated, as if to ponder the subject matter further, but decided to discard it and took a seat not far from Falco's, in the captain's position. There was a brief, satisfactory and serene silence between the two, as the same thought traveled through both their minds. They felt as if they'd reached a goal and achieved something. It was something small, but it was a result nonetheless, and it was the spark of hope the Star-Fox team needed.

"She was… close to you… Once upon a time?" Fox asked.

"Yeah…" Falco responded with an intense nod. "Yeah."

"Was it hard?"

"She almost got me. She knows just the spot to hit when she's angry. And once I'm where she wants me, that's it. Game over."

Fox found Falco's behavior unusual. He knew over the years of being a famous ace pilot, Falco had become a hit with many of the girls around the Lylat, but never had one had an effect on him like this. Falco moved off the subject, preferring the idea of never having to think about Cass Rico ever again.

"Did ROB make the repairs we needed?"

Fox nodded.

"All done, everything's complete. The only problem was a small fighter got on my tail."

"Oh?"

"We caught him, ROB and I. He was a bounty hunter, apparently someone's put a fair bounty up on our heads, Falco" Fox stated with distress.

"Bounty from who?" Falco asked, clearly alerted.

"No names. All I got out of him was 'the Luperium'. I've never heard of them before, must be small-time…"

"No" Falco murmured with a gulp. "The Luperium isn't small-time Fox… The Luperium is one of the biggest underworld organized crime groups in the Lylat System."

Falco sprung up from his chair, and rubbed an arced wing over his forehead. "We're in trouble."

"What?" Fox asked. "The Luperium? Who are they?"

"Fox…" Falco convincingly reasoned, "The Luperium is a very tight group of mobsters. They pick their clients and customers, and when they put a bounty on somebody… Well, let's just say you don't often hear of them being handed in alive."

Fox let out a sigh, but he didn't quite buy the magnitude of the situation that Falco was placing on his words. Fox had dealt with criminals before, big and small, heck; he'd even taken out the Emperor of the Venomian Military. How could a pack of gang members pose a threat to Star-Fox? Sure, it was an imminent threat and had to be dealt with – but once it was out the way, it was out the way.

"Where're we headed?" Falco asked with the energy chipped out of his voice. A short robotic sentence came back to him.

"Corneria City" ROB said.

"What for?" Falco asked as he paced back and forth across the bridge.

"I've been summoned for a military… thing…" Fox replied, not entirely sure what the trip was about himself. Falco found some optimism Fox's words and raised his eyebrows.

"Work involved?"

"I'm not sure. I wouldn't count on it" Fox replied, smashing Falco's hopes.

"We got enough power for the interstellar drives?"

Fox frowned. Falco's worried tone had him irritated.

"Falco, we're going through the gates. Let's not overreact here because someone placed a bounty on our heads. It's happened before, and we're still here."

"You can never be too careful, Fox" Falco came back at him, "Especially when the Luperium is involved."

Fox considered his point for a minute, and then contemplated his decision as a captain. His wingman was usually hot-headed and far too overconfident. The lack of sureness in his voice was something Falco was seldom to show. And if it made him happy, the issue would be laid to rest. Fox gave ROB a fleeting look, taking a few moments to finalize his verdict.

"ROB, let's change course. We won't be taking the gates back to Corneria."

"Affirmative" ROB replied. The skeletal figure of machinery that comprised ROB-64 punched some new commands into the main navigation console, and soon the _Great Fox_ was drifting through space on a difference course. Even when the interstellar drives of the ship were engaged, Falco Lombardi couldn't help but fret about the thought of the Luperium mobsters wanting a piece of Star-Fox.


	3. Thrown At The Wolf

**Wolf O'Donnell – Sector X Airspace**

Amongst the rivers of drifting ship parts was a heavily modified star-fighter. Its trapezoid shape and sharp edges were quite unsettling to those who looked upon it, even if the laser cannons mounted on each side weren't aimed at you. The ship seemed to be crafted out of a battle-ready but delicate crustacean's shell, with all the triangular tips and points mantling the craft. If not so twisted, the craft may have bared a similar resemblance with Fox McCloud's Arwing II.

But he wasn't Fox McCloud, he was far different. He was wanted on most of the civilized planets in the Lylat System, but that didn't get in the way of his work.

His name was Wolf O'Donnell.

A furry grey hand hammered in some communication codes on the Wolfen space-fighter's dash, followed by a rough voice echoing through the com channel.

"Star-Wolf, that's it" were his only words.

Wolf O'Donnell had been in many situations such as this one before, but never did he just rush into anything. If it weren't for his cunning wit and ingenuity, he'd be a rotting corpse floating in an asteroid belt by now. And if not for his vigilance, his team members would also be dead. A bright, golden orb with a black opening in the middle gazed upon the floating mass of metal before it. It was Wolf's only eye, the other had long been lost, and an ominous patch over the empty socket kept the tale sealed to itself. Two fangs on each side of his mouth slotted into place over his lower jaw as he thought deep and hard about what was going to take place in the space-station before him.

"I have a bad feeling about this" a cold, raspy sentence came through. Wolf's eye narrowed as the collective thoughts of his team member dwindled on the other side of the com channel.

"We're come too far now" Wolf replied to his wingman, Leon Powalski.

Wolf took a glance over his shoulder on either side of his cockpit dome, and saw two star-fighters come up on his port and starboard sides. The three ships sitting beside each other all looked similar with the shade of black and red and prickly hulls, but each one was unique. One was the ship of Leon Powalski, the only remaining original member of the Star-Wolf team. His craft was sleek and slim, with the fins of the craft stretched backward to the rear. The design of the craft was due to a unique shield system that could take a volcanic blast before damage started inflicting on the hull. The other star-fighter belonged to the likes of Panther Caroso, the most recent addition to the famous gang of mercenaries, but after a few years behind the control yoke of a Wolfen III star-fighter, he had settled in _quite_ well. Panther had named his craft _Black Rose_ after his fascination with the objects – he even had a custom paint-job on the starboard side hull. The rose was ever-so-detailed, from the lilac pallor of the petals, to the prickly thorns spawning from the stem. Panther felt this made way for a particular elegance in even the most vicious of dogfights, whereas his wingmen looked upon his fascination as an extension of his ego. The _Black Rose_ was more than simply attractive; its two top fins curved around in arcs toward the nose of the fighter, allowing for more accurate laser bursts. Lately, situations had not come to the extent of needing such modifications, but Star-Wolf feared for the worst.

Panther voiced his opinion over the com channel in his usual calm and soundly tone.

"I don't like the look of this, Captain. It's too quiet. There's no orbiting guards… no patrols… _nothing_."

"I'll admit the circumstances could be more… welcoming, Panther. However, don't think I've come unprepared" Wolf addressed his wingmen. "Leon" he said strongly, having more confidence in his right-hand man's flight experience.

"Here sir."

"There's a chance these low-life thugs might just want the bounty on our heads, or my head, specifically, just by using some elaborate planning. If so, have your underside compartment ready to deploy, so I've got a way out of here."

"We're not going with you?" Panther asked.

"No, Panther" Wolf said, keeping his eye fixed on the space-station. "The circumstances have changed, it's too risky. I need you two in the air; anything could pop out at us."

"Understood" Leon responded clearly. Wolf nodded as he finalized the possible decisions going through his head. He straightened himself up in his cockpit seat, and gave a white patch of fur on the top of his scalp a chafe. All of a sudden, his muscles tensed and his mindset was locked. When Wolf O'Donnell was concentrating on strategy, his enemy rarely got the better of him.

"Star-Wolf, let's do this. I want you two to circle the space-station in opposite directions. Use your computer read-outs to keep tabs on the surface to see if anything emerges. Are we clear?"

"Crystal" Leon said first, quite conceited.

"… Crystal" Panther replied, with his word drifting off, his thoughts elsewhere.

The Wolfen fighter Wolf had dubbed _Red Fang_ extended two landing legs as it glided through the hangar bay's oxygen bubble, and the 'x' shaped double-wings on either side of the craft stretched out and provided support. The ship landed in an alcove a good distance into the hanger. The ship's high-pitched whine hummed down when Wolf powered down the Wolfen, but he discretely left his twin-laser cannons on each side of the craft warm, ready to fire if need be. Before emerging from the cockpit, Wolf made sure his blaster was tucked away inside its pouch, but easily accessible. The transparent dome of the Wolfen hissed as the air-tight seal was broken, and the casement tilted upward. There was a ladder that extended from the cockpit of the craft had Wolf needed it, but instead he lunged over the side. Thick black boots that were once used for military purposes hit the ground with a softened thud, and already a blasted had itself pointed in Wolf's general direction – not immediately threatening, as the grip was loose, but it made a point.

"I see you brought your friends after all" the blaster's wielder said.

_It's a she_ Wolf thought in surprise. He wasn't expecting a she.

"Rico?"

"Yes, Rico is a girl. Surprise, surprise…" Cass Rico babbled expectantly. "But we're here to do business… And no, before you ask, you'd be dead by now if I wanted the bounty on your head."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. My wingmen would be on you so quickly you before you could say… _tweet_" Wolf remarked smartly. The female of the avian race took a relaxed stance and lowered her blaster.

"Criminals are criminals, Mister O'Donnell. Surely we can forget the pleasantries" she smiled. Wolf stood tall in his battered and scarred black Venomian armor that was probably due for replacing sometime soon.

"Hah" Wolf chuckled to himself. She was right.

"Besides, there are things I want done that hold more importance to me than money" Cass said. She gestured the hand holding the blaster in the direction of a tactical table. It was positioned under a large mechanical arm used for loading cargo, hanging of the hangar's ceiling, and accompanied by two rows of shabby sitting-benches. Wolf could tell the Space Hot-Rodders, as they called themselves, were on a tight budget, just by looking around at the equipment they used and sniffing the traces in the air of dried up lubricants and sublight engine oils. Star-Wolf's position wasn't much different, and a feeling settled in Wolf that the two teams were on a level playing field. Cass seated herself down next to the desk, and operated a small control panel on the face of it to bring up a moving animation of the Lylat System on the desk's flat monitor. A variety of different colored planets and objects came up against a black background, and Wolf could tell it was an older model, in pretty bad shape too. Wolf took a seat opposite Cass, and the two leaned over the top of the moving solar system.

"You must have a general idea of what I need you to do" Cass said.

"Roughly, and I can assume how someone of your… stature would want it done, as well" Wolf nodded.

"Wrong" the avian interjected quickly. "Don't think that, Wolf."

Wolf frowned. "Ten targets. Only one of them has what I want. Stolen goods, from this base. Contraband. To get the supplies, you're going to need to hit the right one. If you don't… well a self-destruction device with a radius of about two klicks would wipe out your squad – and theirs."

Wolf leaned back as Cass tried to make herself appear theatrical and left a long silence after she had finished her words. Wolf looked her in one eye with his and grinned, showing off his menacing white fangs.

"The question is, is it worth seventeen-thousand?"

"It's worth seventeen-thousand" Cass retorted.

"Why?"

"It's worth seventeen-thousand because there's nothing else out there you could get for the same reward."

She was only partially right – Wolf could find greater amounts of money but it would prove more difficult. It wasn't an easy seventeen-thousand but it was an easy find. She continued. "Don't worry; it's worse than you think."

Cass pointed toward the system map, and circled a feathery auburn wing around the planet Venom. Wolf let out a distressed sigh and shook his head in frustration.

"Forget it. It's not worth seventeen-thousand Miss Rico. You can keep your much-needed money, I'm getting out of here" Wolf said. He placed his furry hands on the desktop and launched himself upward, and immediately started heading back to his Wolfen.

"Wolf" Cass spoke up, going after him. The mercenary stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Miss Rico, you're not going to send my team and I into a war zone where the mission is more than just retrieving some of your precious cargo – but _staying alive_. I can't do it, not for seventeen-thousand."

Cass hesitated, but singled for her body guard to come to her side. He was there in an instant, and she whispered in his ear. Wolf turned around as he figured out what was going on, but remained calm. They weren't planning to stop him from leaving – they were planning to cut him a deal. Cass looked into the mercenary's functioning eye as she came to a conclusion.

"If my enemy's get their hands on what's in that transport ship, I'm done for. My whole… _life_ is done for."

"What's in it?" Wolf asked, staying still as Cass approached him slowly.

"You're not going to be the one asking the questions here. What's in that ship is my business. You're business, is to get it out. For twenty-five."

Wolf considered.

"Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-five" the gang-leader confirmed. Cass was left in suspense, but tried not to show it as her last piece of hope contemplated the price in front of her. The reason Star-Wolf was so successful in the underworld was because of their ability to take on big jobs for low prices.

_But is this worth it?_ Wolf questioned himself. He knew the others would go for it, but it was Wolf who held it together when the situation went downhill. He felt like punching himself in the jaw when he made his decision.

"I'll take it, what are the conditions?" he asked, disagreeing with himself even as he said the words. It was one of those decisions that he _knew_ would backfire on him – but the stakes were too high.

"Ten now, fifteen later. And I've also decided to be generous, you can have two of my finest pilots" Cass said with a smirk. In Wolf's mind, two of Cass Rico's finest pilots didn't appeal to him, but he had no problem finding a good use for amateurs.

"How comforting" Wolf replied with a sarcastic tone. He stiffened up as he prepared Cass a question, looking at her confusedly. "And what was with the cold welcome? No patrols? It was too quiet. You were lucky we didn't turn around."

"Well… you _are_ Star-Wolf. If you _did_ try to pull something, we couldn't go about it in a by-the-book way." Wolf nodded slowly and offered a merciless smirk.

"I'm glad you see things that way."

Leon Powalski sported a skin-tight amethyst outfit designed for piloting, but didn't match the profiles of the Cornerian wanted posters. He was a lizard, with scaly jade skin and bulging eyes. Cass looked at him with her head tilted, trying to figure out how Leon could have earned the title of the deadliest assassin in the Lylat. When Leon returned a cold stare back at her, she felt his eyes pierce straight through her, and it was considerably unsettling. She switched her attention to Panther Caroso, a well-built handsome feline, whose profession seemed like breaking young girl's hearts. He wore a white and golden vest, and his deep purple fur went with it nicely. Standing next to his leader, Cass could see Panther was about the same height and width of Wolf. The dashing young pilot gave her a wink and a grin just before her interest went down to the tactical board below her.

Cramped around the tactical board, Star-Wolf, two of Cass's pilots and Cass herself discussed the mission plan.

"To find the right transport ship, you're going to have to get within about half a klick of them" Cass said.

"We'll leave that to your guys" Wolf spoke up. Leon and Panther both nodded in support.

"You're free to use my pilots as you wish, but I suggest you keep them alive, or there _will_ be consequences."

"We'll have your men covered, it's the safer option" Wolf said.

"Alright" Cass agreed. The monitor on the surface of the board switched from a plain black backdrop of space to a very detailed and textured mossy green-yellow terrain. "It's a small pirate outfit on Venom. The politics over there are in shambles, it's a good time to strike without anyone important caring."

She paused for a moment, looking up to meet Star-Wolfs' eyes. "Now most of this should take place in Area Six but if you're not fast enough you'll have to deal with some surface attacks. This is what you'll be up against…"

The animation focused on a base establishment obviously captured by satellite scans, and an unfriendly looking arrangement of laser turrets dotted the area outside of the complex.

"That _is_ a lot of firepower" Panther commented.

"We don't know what kind of technology these guys have, but hey, let's face it – Venom's been in a mess for a while now, so I wouldn't count on any high-tech weaponry. With the distance between those turrets and the transports… you'll have nothing to worry about."

After the poorly organized briefing, Panther Caroso was quick to return to his customized Wolfen III fighter that he had named the _Black Rose_,and attended to some maintenance. One of his port fins had recently decided to shudder when initiated to extend, and in the midst of battle, it's not something that Panther needed. His mechanical skills weren't the best among his squad, but he was knowledgeable enough to get the job done himself. The feline was too conceited to ever ask for help, and he doubted it would be something he resorted to even in the matter of life and death. The fur on his hands used to be a deep purple, but now it was blackened due to the lubricant used at the Wolfen III's fin joint. As a last minute decision he had decided to throw on some overalls he found lying around in the hangar, and he was glad he did because the job was a lot messier than he first thought it to be – he was now covered in all sorts of oils and grease. This was a reflection of the fact that he wasn't entirely sure of what he was doing with his star-fighter. After a few minutes, he thought he'd found the problem. Inside the compartment where the craft's fin met the joint-socket, some old melted metal from the chassis had wrapped itself around the joint. Panther was just about to take an attempt at fixing the problem when a body slid along the hangar floor and came up beside him. He was caught surprised and flinched a little, but recovered speedily and went back to his work. The presence of Cass Rico below his ship's hull was most welcome. He looked at the avian as she tried to figure out what was wrong with the craft by fidgeting with the end of the fin.

"You know we really didn't have a chance to properly introduce ourselves" Panther said. Cass looked at him and smiled.

"I know who you are, Panther. Hah… how could anyone _not_ know of Panther Caroso?" she said.

"Well… I _do_ like the sound of that" Panther admitted cheerily.

"So what's wrong with your ship?" she asked on a more serious note.

"Oh… It's nothing" Panther said quickly. "Just a… malfunction with the fin's extension. That's all."

"Well let me take a look," Cass insisted, "I might be able to help you out."

One of her wings darted up for the darkened compartment, the other reached into her jacket pocket for a torch. Panther's hands slowly wrapped around hers, but he brought the avian's arms down firmly.

"No, really," he smiled, "I've got it."

Cass rolled her eyes.

"You're not the only one who knows how to fly around here, you know" she remarked.

"Well, I'm sorry. I'm very sensitive when it comes to my ship, you see."

When Panther looked across at her in reassurance, something happened that Panther hadn't expected. Cass looked over at the same time, and their eyes locked. Panther tried to look away, but the hazel swirls of Cass's eyes captivated him. It wasn't often that Panther gave in to the scent of romance, but he was stuck in the moment and nobody was there to pull him out. As he looked into Cass's eyes he saw the same vulnerability, but it appeared that for now, he was weaker – as Cass broke the silence first.

"You know…" Cass mumbled, "… We met once, you and I. Once before…"

"Really?" Panther said slowly, with his words half-finished and drifting of into the dreamy swirls of Cass's eyes.

"Yes. I don't think you'd remember me… I was just a little girl then. Back on Corneria…"

Panther built up the strength to return to his customary cool and collected status, and continued with a flirtatious manner.

"Well, you see my dear," Panther smirked, "so many different ladies have wanted to meet me, how am I supposed to remember them all?"

The mood was soon smashed when Wolf O'Donnell appeared standing at their feet just before the Wolfen III.

"Your Wolfen sorted, Panther?" Wolf barked with an edge. Panther popped his head out from under the craft.

"Certainly, Wolf" he replied with a mischievous look.

"C'mon pretty boy, we're getting out of here" the captain declared. As Cass emerged from under the craft next, Wolf gave her a glare. She found the flaring yellow eye discomforting. As he left to prepare his Wolfen, Panther ascended the ladder into his cockpit.

"You know if you give me two seconds, I can scrape this out for you" Cass said, analyzing the scorched insides of the star-fighter from under it.

"Well," Panther said softly, "if you must."

It wasn't long before Cass had chipped away the scorched remains of metal from the compartment with a blade she had slipped out from her jacket pocket, where the torch had come from. Charred debris crumpled apart on the hangar floor, and once she was done, she switched her torch off and tucked it back in her pocket.

"All done" she confirmed, sliding out from underneath the Wolfen III. From the cockpit a good two meters above the ground, Panther looked down at her, and noticed her posh and expensive-looking jacket was splotched with black smudges.

"What a shame, you're jacket, it's filthy" Panther sympathetically noted from the cockpit of his craft, leaning over the side.

"What, this?" Cass asked, grabbing her collar and shaking it. "I don't pay for this stuff" she winked. Panther disappeared back into his cockpit for a few moments, but met with Cass's eyes as he returned - those pretty eyes colored with hazel swirls. Panther was sure he'd remember them until he got back from the mission.

"This is for you" he called out happily. From his hand, dropped a bright red rose. It pattered on the floor ever-so-softly, and Cass retrieved it in the envelope of her wings. Astonished, she elevated the opulent flower to her beak, and inhaled softly to let the lush fragrance fill her marvel. Cass's eyes flared and her surprise carried further when realization came that the rose was authentic.

"But this… this is so hard to get!" she spurted.

"There's plenty more where that came from…"

Those were his last words. The brief exchange shared between the two wouldn't last, it'd be over the second Panther left the station for the second time, but he could tell they were the same type of person. Adventurous, risky… _dangerous._


	4. The Troubles Of Peppy Hare

**Peppy Hare – V.I.P. Dock 521, Corneria City, Corneria**

All the red carpet still hadn't sunk in yet. Four and a half years Peppy Hare had been attached to this new role, but still it seemed like yesterday he was in space high above Corneria, blasting Venomian fighters down from the cockpit of his Arwing. If there was one thing Peppy would kill for, it would be the ability to stay sharp in his old age so he could stick behind the controls of a star-fighter, doing everything he could for Fox and his crew.

But now those days were long behind him, and a new Peppy Hare replaced the once adventurous mercenary pilot who patrolled the Lylat System. He wasn't flying alongside Fox McCloud anymore; giving advice and helping the team become more successful than they ever had been before. He was wearing _glasses _for his short-sightedness, which he'd never had before becoming stationary aboard the _Great Fox_; it was just another painful reminder of the hare's old age. It was those golden years just before the Cornerian-Venomian War in which the Star-Fox team had shone the most, and when Peppy had shone the most. After that, he felt time had played tricks on him and his fifteen minutes of fame were up. Soon after defeating Emperor Andross of Venom, Peppy found himself operating Star-Fox's previous mother-ship, the original _Great Fox_ and only helping his team-mates from the safety of about twenty klicks away. That's not how Peppy wanted to live.

He sniffed the air when the giant sizzle of reverse thrusters shook his nerves. He was on the green and blue planet of Corneria, one of the most resourceful planets in the Lylat System, and definitely the most inhabited. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and that hard-to-find factor came into play when Corneria's massive population was involved. Corneria City itself was a mixture of bright green grassy plains and bustling city life, with sky-scrapers these days stretching to the lower clouds. The buildings that occupied the city were a mixture of rectangles and pyramids, and some of the more recently constructed models were oval bulbs spawning from high metal-plated platforms. The colors of these structures were a mix of navy and muted grays, enhanced by the bright neon lighting that advertised both products and stationary businesses on the sides of buildings. Uncontrolled twirling and churning airways decorated the empty space between sky-scrapers, providing the citizens of Corneria City a means of public transport. It had been around for a hundred years, and they had proved reliable and easy to maintain. The slim airway that wrapped around the side of building to meet with Peppy Hare's dock was a private route that was used for accommodating government and military personnel, such as Peppy himself. A glowing cyan light throbbed up and down the airway letting the dock's occupants know the sky-train was coming to a stop to allow boarding. As the bulk of black and gray assembled materials pulled up with a hissing roar alongside Peppy, the size of the sky-train blocked out the warming and kindly sun, and the bright blanket over the hare's face dwindled. Peppy's tall brown-grey ears slumped, and a male feline dressed in formal green Cornerian military uniform cast a hand around the general's shoulder – _General_ Peppy Hare.

"Alright sir, let's get you out of here" the feline said, his words heart-felt and blended with respect. Peppy nodded, and stood up from his metal-framed seat, and approached the opening sliding doors of the sky-train.

Peppy wandered down the aisle of the front sky-train car, a robot nodded respectfully and gestured toward one of the many empty seats on either side of the passage. The white interior of the train was surprisingly welcoming, and Peppy made himself comfortable next to an invisible shield which allowed him to view the landscape of Corneria City from high above the roaring metropolitan ground. The sun was beginning to set – a lot of civilians were finishing work at around this time, and that meant that the sky-trains got busier, and all the transport routes would start to clog up and slow down. The feline, advertising a badge which confirmed he was a corporal within the Cornerian Army, took a seat beside Peppy Hare and remained silent. A couple of others from behind them at the dock entered the train and selected their seats, and murmurs arose when Peppy's face was recognized by the commoners. When everyone had their seats, the robot at the door returned to his pilot's position, and the entrance sealed off automatically with a satisfying squeak. Peppy's head shifted slightly as the sky-train took motion and proceeded to follow the airway around a scenic route through tunnels and between buildings. Peppy observed other sky-trains out of his view as well as the citizens filling the city streets below. Corneria City was a big place – Peppy had grown accustomed to it but he wasn't comfortable in it. He supposed even back in his days with Star-Fox he held a certain degree of responsibility, being the oldest, the most experienced, which meant that his current job suited him. Peppy Hare was a man of experience, and that's why he had been chosen to take the position of general in the Cornerian Military. His word exceeded all other commands, and the sense of power and responsibility had been quite daunting at first. Peppy had grown used to it however, and after four and a half years the career consisted of the same complications – space pirates, land acquisition and the overall safety of the Cornerian people. Peppy knew he was good at his job, but he knew there were times when he wished he was in the solitary confinement of a star-fighter, with the primal instinct of hunting down an enemy – and shooting him down. His thoughts dispersed as the corporal next to him received a harsh bleeping from his communications device attached to his wrist. The feline brought it up within sight and pressed down a button with his other hand.

"This is Corporal Endico" he responded without thought.

"Corporal Endico, we have just received word from Commander-In-Chief Marco that she will be meeting with General Hare at the Lavender-Ring."

"Thank you, Corporal Endico out."

The corporal turned to Hare hesitantly.

"Sir…"

"I heard" Peppy nodded leisurely. "Another diplomatic meeting with the good commander-in-chief."

The corporal let out a grin.

"I assume you look forward to it, sir" he suggested with a hint of cheek.

"I may be old, Corporal, but that doesn't mean I jump at the chance of time-spanning talks that don't get anywhere in system issues."

Endico shrugged.

"It doesn't seem you share a lot in common with the meandering members of the Cornerian council, General" Endico said innocently. Peppy looked at the corporal and offered him a smile. At last, a military grunt that hadn't been brainwashed by the speeches of the new Cornerian commander-in-chief.

"What's your name, son?" Peppy inquired quietly.

"Corporal Endico, sir" the cat said.

"Now, now, I'm sure _Corporal_ isn't your first name, is it?"

The feline chuckled slightly.

"Monty. Monty Endico" he said proudly. Peppy nodded and pressed his glasses further up his nose. He took a moment to try and recall why the name seemed familiar, but he shortly gave up.

"Now tell me, Monty. Why does your surname ring a bell?"

"My father sir, Admiral Endico" Monty again stated proudly.

"Oh yes, Admiral Endico… One of our finest" Peppy noted. Monty was happy with Peppy's description. "Tell me Monty, do you wish to follow in your father's footsteps?"

Monty drooped his orange and black striped head and shook it from side to side with shame.

"I'm just not a pilot, sir. I'm not a pilot like my father… or yourself. I don't have the talent."

Peppy's eyes flared in surprise.

"The _talent?_" Peppy hollered amazedly. "Piloting is not a natural-born talent boy, it's an acquired skill. Don't go thinking only the lucky can go on to become the leaders of their own cruisers, Monty. It's there for the taking; Corneria needs people to step up to the plate."

Peppy's words were gentle as he spoke, but came packaged with a sharp edge to them. He dropped his voice slightly, which comforted Monty a little. "And I haven't been a pilot since… well, not for a long time" the hare smiled in assurance. Monty met the general's eyes. "If you're young, son, you can fly. It's as simple as that. I don't know what anyone's told you, but don't let common words consume your dreams."

Monty was appreciative of the general's advice but found it ridiculously epic. There was a gap between the start of dreams and the end of them – a large gap that concerned complicated middlemen. Wherever you were in the Lylat, you simply didn't grab the controls of a star-fighter and become a valorous war hero.

"Well, thank you, sir" he concluded, ending the conversation.

The Lavender-Ring was the Cornerian Military Headquarters, which it was also known as. It was only a recent development within the last couple of months, but the construction had progressed hastily and now, everything was complete. It had been named by the retired General Pepper, who found the color of lavender to be peaceful, and one of the only colors not associated with any previous wars. Not surprisingly, the interior of the rounded structure was mostly lavender, and currently, fairly empty. General Peppy Hare, wearing his red and golden lined military general's uniform, ambled into the center of his new office, and then stopped in his tracks. He studied his surroundings carefully; as there was a lot of new high-tech gear he had not yet been introduced to. There was a tactical HUD placed on the wall above the doorway, a large hologram situated to the left of his substantially large work desk, and a giant golden Cornerian shield accompanied by two crimson drapes above the main viewport, which offered a view of the entire city. Peppy stood still, astonished at the dimensions of his new office. After a moment, he headed around behind his desk, and placed himself down in his chair for the first time. He sat still for a moment, absorbing any sentimental value he could fool himself into mustering, until he realized that over-romanticism was only the nostalgia of memories back in an Arwing cockpit.

"General, sir!"

It was more of a bark than a respectful addressing of Peppy, but it had certainly brought him back to the ground.

"What is it?" Peppy asked, a bit confused.

"Commander-In-Chief Marco has arrived, sir. She wishes to see you" the canine informed. Peppy nodded agitatedly.

"Alright, bring her in."

Pandora Marco was her name, and while she had a placid appearance as a black and white cuddly teddy bear, her inner workings were rancid – at least that was Peppy Hare's opinion. She wore a blue and golden lined cloak, similar to Peppy's, which promoted her rule over the Cornerian High Government. Her ears perked as Peppy attempted to speak back to her.

"Yes, I understand that, Commander, but what we're facing here could very well throw Venom back into war with Corneria" Peppy voiced.

"If you risk giving that region its own planetary government, then Lylat is in trouble. It's Andross all over again" she hissed at him. Peppy could understand Pandora's point, but it was the only aspect of her side of the argument she had revolved around throughout the entire duration of the conflict. She settled down a tad, and placed herself down in the seat before Peppy's desk, deciding against towering over the old hare. "Now I've organized a gathering in Liberty Circle, I'm not going to back down on this, General. If a Cornerian ruled system is what the citizens of Corneria want, then I shall provide it to them."

"And start your own empire without giving other planets a shot at independence? What you might be planning concerns me, Commander" Peppy said sharply, eyeing her actions closely. He tried to make her realize the name she was making for herself, but Pandora obeyed the people of Corneria blindly.

"These people have seen more attacks in the two decades, than in the last hundred years. They're tired of hiding, General. The people of Corneria want to live in a solar system where they don't have to be afraid of traveling from planet to planet."

Peppy clasped his hands around each other in a firm grip, and stroked his thumbs up and down each other. He let out a sigh, and shook his head.

"If you're going to fight this all the way Commander, then so am I" Peppy declared.

It was on the news every day, the fate of Venom. The seasick green-yellow surface of the planet was infected with the violent nature of civil war, and it struck deep in Dash Bowman's heart every time he saw it in the holograms. He had come from that life, the warring and toxic simian home of Venom, but for a long time he had disassociated himself with it. His parents – Venomian scum. He wanted nothing to do with them, and he had little idea of how their lives were progressing these days. Not one family member of Dash Bowman's was free of his resentment, especially since he was the grandson of the late Emperor Andross himself. He was a young and promising cadet when he first entered the Cornerian Military, and now he had developed into a fine private of the Cornerian Defense Force. He had flown with the legendary mercenaries Star-Fox themselves on occasion, and proved himself as a valuable ally. This had caught the attention of his squad commander, and the eye of the acclaimed General Hare. Dash backed away from the article floating in front of him with a light blue tint, he couldn't bear to watch the insurgence on Venom any longer. He had hoped after the recent Anglar War, Venom would have been rid of such violence. Was it a part of the Venomian people? Was it in _his _blood?

_No, I'm Cornerian_, Dash thought to himself. He shook these thoughts loose and walked away from the projection in the grand hall of the Lavender-Ring.

Peppy Hare greeted the young Cornerian private as he entered the general's new office.

"Good to see you again, Dash" Peppy said, with welcoming opening arms and a warming beam spread across his face. As typical of his entire race, Peppy's protruding two front teeth made his smile somewhat hilarious. Dash nodded gratefully at Peppy's notion to summon him, and placed himself in the seat opposite Peppy when the general gestured. Dash's dark brown features of the simian race clashed with the bright white and yellow of his Cornerian pilot's uniform, but his bright sapphire eyes were a treat for the old general to look upon – full of life, spawning a montage of reminiscences in Peppy's head of happier times.

"Thank you, General. It's good to be out of there for a while" Dash admitted sadly.

"What do you mean, Dash?"

"Everyone's coming down hard, it's like they're prepping us for another war. They're turning some of us into… _machines_, Peppy. The Cornerian Defense Force is not the bright ray of hope it used to be."

Trepidation crept subtly across Peppy's face, and an angry insurgence within the old timer wanted to break out and take a bite out of the colonels running the Cornerian flight academies.

"So, they're influence really has got that deep…" he bitterly murmured. Dash caught his words.

"Yes… the morale is broken. It's hard to know what to think anymore."

"Dash," Peppy announced with a matter-of-factly tone, "nobody wants to start another war with Venom, but it seems the everyday Cornerian doesn't understand the consequences of a Cornerian ruled system. The government and the military are divided, but soon they're going clash if something isn't done."

"Which brings me to why I'm here" Dash spoke up, shuffling in his seat. "Did you speak with the commander-in-chief?"

"I did," Peppy raised his voice and replied quickly, "I did."

"Can I have escort to Venom?"

Peppy exhaled noisily and continued to eye Dash closely. With Peppy's body language, Dash sagged his shoulders and his hope was lost. "She doesn't want to negotiate with the Venomians?"

"It's not going to happen at this stage, Dash. I'm sorry."

"Ah, well, who am I to complain? I hate the Venomians."

"Yes" Peppy chuckled. "Yes you do, but I know you feel the obligation to set things right, Dash. You feel responsible for so much."

Dash was guilty. He bobbed his head to agree with Peppy. The general sat forward and placed his arms on the desk, demanding Dash to bring his attention up from the floor. "You're not Andross, Dash. You were born with bad luck of having a name in your blood. It's not your responsibility to fix Lylat's problems, and the sooner you realize that, the better. Or else, you're going to get yourself imprisoned or killed. I've been keeping your little solo efforts to myself but it strains my responsibilities as a leader, and if you keep it up we'll both go down" explained Peppy. Dash felt the common sense and wise words of Peppy go into his head and stick, and relaxed back in his seat.

"I can't let that crazy commander-in-chief ruin all we've worked toward."

"Exactly, so I'm asking you, _not_ to take anymore risks, Dash. There's too much at stake now."

"I know, General. I'm sorry" Dash said sincerely. Peppy felt the gradual companionship of sympathy sneak into him, and realized that Dash Bowman was full of surprises. It was as if Peppy had only just made up his mind about Dash, when his justification and reasoning had changed his opinion yet again. He had always had a strong belief that Dash wouldn't cross ambition with righteousness, as the two were a deadly mix, and he hoped that would remain one of the simian's fortunate virtues.

"Don't be sorry Dash, there's not a born and bred Cornerian soul as true to the heart as you are" he praised. There was something about Peppy's words, the same integrity to his wisdom that Dash had always felt he possessed, which raised his hopes for a better shot at liberating Venom.


	5. Proposition

**Fox McCloud – Corneria Airspace**

The ship most saw as ugly shared similarities with a Venomian supply crate from the dormant factories of Macbeth, but the _Great Fox_ these days was used to play out strategies rather than dive head-first with shields up into an unchartered region of space. It was traveling at the fastest velocity it could through interstellar space, which no doubt, was a different environment than normal. Space turned into a black and white vortex, a mixture of the stars and the vacuum, and apart from the lively humming of the mother-ship, there was a high-pitched eerie whine. One grew accustomed to it after frequent space travel but it was only faint, and the _Great Fox_'s engineering silenced it. The ship wasn't quite traveling at the speed of light – otherwise it would have shot out of the system and been projected somewhere into the unknown, but it was reaching its destination fast. Within the hour, Star-Fox planned to be back at Corneria.

The _Great Fox_ was brought to a spongy crawl as ROB-64 cut power to the interstellar drives. Fox McCloud attended to a workstation alive with a variety of robotic twitters to the starboard side of the bridge, fastened to a bulkhead. He didn't have to – but Fox wasn't the type to sit back while ROB did all the work. If he wasn't doing something, he felt as though he were wasting time.

Falco Lombardi liked wasting time, and was generous when it came to letting others have all the fun controlling the ship's travel, but he was glued to the port vertical viewport that stretched from the top of the craft to the bottom. It was slim and offered limited sight. Falco closed in on the gap, and concernedly took a glance to the ship's left. Fox was too busy controlling the hull integrity of the _Great Fox_ to notice his friend's movements. ROB-64 hammered away at a computer interface, giving commands to the _Great Fox_ directly, and then turned to his captain.

"Captain" ROB addressed, not gaining much of a response. "Captain."

The changing rate of the hull's integrity was demanding Fox's attention, but he managed to spare a few grunts to the pilot. ROB continued once he had confirmation that Fox was in the same dimension. "Interstellar travel cycle complete, we have arrived at Corneria, with all systems in tact."

"Why, thank you ROB" Fox answered gratefully as he abused knobs and switches with both hands. The robot joined Fox's side, and the hull integrity of the _Great_ _Fox_ was sorted within a few moments. "Polarization sir, you did not recall to account for the shield reactivation" ROB explained. Fox turned to the pilot and dabbed him on the head with his fingertips, offering an affectionate but sarcastic gesture. ROB was left thoroughly confused as Fox walked away, and his head-piece would have imploded before he would ever understand the psychology of living creatures. His visual sensors followed Fox across the bridge until he came abreast of Falco at the leftmost viewport. Corneria was plain in view, with the orbital gate high above the planet, at least from the _Great Fox_'s entry point.

"ROB" Falco called out. ROB snapped to attention from the bridge mainframe.

"Yes sir."

"I want you to use our long range scanners to see what you pick up around that orbital gate. Check for I.D. tags and identify all units, then color-code them on the heads-up."

Fox eyed Falco suspiciously, and the avian returned an equally wary expression. "Just wait, Fox."

ROB attended to his duties, which mainly involved interacting with the ship's mainframe. Fox stroked the furry underside of his muzzle as he fixed his eyes on the orbital gate closely. The structure was at least fifty klicks away and diminutive in perspective, but the glowing specks of Cornerian patrols could be seen circling on both sides of the gate. Their movements seemed about normal, and Fox couldn't see why there was anything to be worried about.

"It's not like you to be so careful, Falco" Fox commented. Falco was too deep in concentration to detect the hint of smugness in his voice.

"I've had dealings with these guys before" Falco replied. Fox shook his head and sighed.

"You're not still worried about the bounty hunters, are you?"

"It's not the bounty hunters I'm worried about" Falco quickly came back. ROB had finished his task, and on a large scanner above the mainframe screen, popped up a wire-frame grid of the area, with a cluster of orange, red and yellow dots near the center.

"Red identifies Cornerian Defense Forces, yellow identifies labeled civilian craft and orange remains unidentified" ROB said. With his mechanical tones sounding over the bridge, the two mercenaries briskly made their way toward the center of the room. Falco switched his attention to the unusual high amount of orange dots hovering on the HUD. Fox narrowed his eyes.

"CDF will be having a hell of a time trying to control all those unknowns" he said. Falco nodded.

"Yup" was all that came out.

"Bounty hunters?" Fox asked.

"Yup. Or worse. The Luperium themselves."

"What's got you so worked up?" Fox asked.

"If they can't kill you, if you're too hard to get you, they try and swing you a deal. But it's a very _bad_ deal to become attached to" the avian explained. He started a monotonous rhythm, "You can't get out, they ask you to do more – you try and get help… I was tied up in their game once. Back when…"

"Right" Fox said, knowing of the former gang-member's past. The brown and white furred vulpine looked at ROB. "ROB, approach the atmosphere as far opposite you can from that gate, and mess up our I.D. tags a bit." His tone was commanding and firm. He settled down in his captain's chair, intertwining his fingers together. Falco appreciated Fox's vigilance and felt the captain had now come to acknowledge the potential weight of the circumstances.

The _Great Fox_ came in fast, about an inch of flame glowed to life around the ship's hull. As ROB brought the ship level with the landscape, the flames diminished. The gray mother-ship soared across the sun-setting golden sky of Corneria, and commenced a landing procedure somewhere over Corneria City.

The gardens of the Lavender-Ring were conventional but spectacular. A state of equilibrium between delicate water features and brightly shaded blossoms flourished the courtyard to life. A settlement of pastel lime tinted roses prospered at the base of a colossal fountain, dispensing a water flow throughout the courtyard through various steams branching off in all directions. Divided pieces of solid land were linked together by small elevated step-stone bridges. What one may have found most intriguing about the courtyard is that the sole rounded land mass covering the area was in fact a floating islet. The waterfalls on either side of the courtyard supplied the artificial bowl underneath the gardens with just enough water to keep the terrain at level with several wooden bridges elongating to entrance passages. Crowds of summer moths clustered around the assortment of various flowers and plants growing around the gardens and gave off a faint but soothing whine as they converged. As the sun set, the scorching temperatures of Corneria City lessened, and the ambiance created _just_ the right time of day to be taking a stroll through the gardens. With the golden glow of the sky blessing the tranquility of the courtyard, everything was perfect. With the gentle patters of running water and the calls of a local bird colony's bustling social life, the muffled words coming from a casual tone fell upon no ears except for the likes of General Peppy Hare.

"We do miss you, Pep" Fox McCloud admitted amiably. "I know it's been more than four years but when I'm out there, on my own, as it usually is, I'm half-expecting your voice to come through the com channel and tell me to do a barrel roll… or something stupid like that."

Fox offered a shrug which emphasized on his honest claim. Peppy offered laughter; he knew Fox's words to contain a great deal of truth. Peppy was always the 'dad' of Star-Fox, bringing the crew back down to reality every time someone got an all-too-bright idea. There was a moment of silence between the two as they passed beneath an archway, and Peppy let out a sigh indicating the thoughts of days long gone were on his mind. Fox was the same, except he handled things in his own way. The aspect of Fox that convinced him to keep his feelings and thoughts bottled up was what made him a great leader, but sometimes made him too hard on himself. Fox wasn't calling Peppy's shots anymore, and nor did Peppy have to act like Fox's father, so communicating with the old hare was much easier than it had been when Star-Fox was…

_Star-Fox_, Fox thought, with a rampant emotional tear on the brink of dropping from his eye. He fought it so Peppy wouldn't notice. As much as he loved Peppy, it pained him to be around him. The two sauntered past a water feature.

"How is everyone?" Peppy asked. He'd been around Fox for enough years to realize what thoughts were resting on the vulpine's mind, and he steered the conversation in a new direction. Fox's rich emerald eyes brightened up a little bit and his eyebrows elevated.

"Well, same old everyone I suppose" Fox started. Except it hadn't been anything like old times since the end of the Aparoid war. The team had been ripped apart and loosely sown back together again, but this time – it really _was_ falling to shreds. Fox snorted a laugh. "Who am I kidding?" he said bitterly.

Peppy looked at him concernedly. "Slippy's… gone, Peppy. He found the love of his life… Ran off with her, and when he showed up again we had our doubts. He's… _changed._ I guess becoming a part of something does that to you."

Fox's comment was a memoir to his own situation – he was still at the core of Star-Fox, and not much had changed him. Was that a bad thing?

"I heard something about Slippy working with his father now" Peppy said.

"Yeah, the Cornerian R and D. He'll be doing well; he was always the top of his class. But _damn_ I miss him."

"Now he's got a wife, Fox. That's responsibility. You can't exactly say you'll be home for dinner on time when you're out fighting the Venomian Army" Peppy put in perspective.

"Rumor has it he's got a couple of kids… I would drop in and see him, but… Things between us, they'd be so awkward now. Especially with his wife around…"

"He's your friend, Fox. He's our friend. It's _Slippy_."

Fox nodded.

"I know."

He let out a sigh, and thoughts drifted on to Falco Lombardi. "Falco's more often doing his own thing these days rather than trying to work with me and make a living together. I think he figures the business is dead, there's nothing here for him anymore."

"He'll stay with you" Peppy assured, nodding convincingly. "Falco's your family. He's not going anywhere. Sometimes, people just need to get away for a little while."

Fox knew it to be true. At the end of the day, if nobody else, Falco would be at his side. The avian was hot-headed and never said what he felt, _ever_. But Falco tried leaving once, and that's when realization kicked in that money meant nothing when it came to being true to yourself – it was just a tool for survival.

"What about Krystal?" Peppy inquired carefully. He was entering risky territory when he treaded that far into Fox's mind. The pilot screwed up his face and bitterly swung a foot out, punting some gravel into a pond. "Oh" Peppy noted.

"No word" Fox muttered. Ever since she had joined Star-Wolf, even mentioning the vixen's name set alarms off in Fox's head. He didn't like to think about her anymore – she was gone, and for what he could tell, she wasn't coming back. Sometimes Fox considered it his own fault.

_But in a situation like that, you can't win_, Fox frowned as he reassured himself.

"You talk about these people… your friends," Peppy started, "and it makes me think, Fox. Sometimes I don't think you're talking about them, as much as you're talking about _yourself_."

Fox blocked Peppy's words for a moment as he looked up at the serene sky and let the dying heat dab on his face. He took a deep breath, and with it he sucked in Peppy's perception. He didn't reply. "I know how it feels. Everyone else seems to be moving to different places so fast but you're standing still."

Fox still remained muted. "And I have an opportunity for you, here on Corneria."

The vulpine's ears perked up and he shot Peppy a confused expression. Peppy used a fingertip to send his glasses further up the bridge of his steep, almost non-existent nose, and stared Fox in the eye.

"What are you talking about?" Fox questioned slowly.

"I'm partitioning the Cornerian Military. I can't handle it all by myself, and I think we would operate more efficiently as separate units. Now one of the divisions I am creating is the Cornerian Space Operations… the CSO. That's going to be our primary force, _everything_ will depend on it."

Fox gradually turned toward one of the waterfalls in the distance as he grasped Peppy's principle.

"Oh, no…"

"It would be a lot of responsibility being the commander of that division, don't you think? I'd need someone I could trust. Someone maybe… that excels even me."

Peppy found Fox burying his face in his hands on the edge of the islet.

"No, no… no, no…" Fox mumbled to himself.

"What is it, Fox?"

"Peppy, that's…"

"Well who else better suited for it? I have half a dozen colonels running around in my flight academies turning my soldiers into morale-starved vegetables. I can't let that keep happening."

Fox was stunned.

"That's what you brought me to Corneria for. It was you" Fox calculated.

"I wanted to talk to you about it in person" Peppy explained. "If you want a chance to do something different… If you're _tired_ Fox… I can help you."

"What about Star-Fox?"

"Give it to Falco. You can't keep going like this forever; somebody new needs to take on the job of rebuilding the team, while you make a legacy for yourself."

Fox McCloud knew how to fly an Arwing, and he knew how to manage a team of four. Many had hailed him as a brilliant tactician and an even greater leader. But to command an entire armada – _that_ was something for a seasoned veteran. But that thought was contradictory, and hypocritical. Without being brash, Fox soon came to realize he _was_ something of an experienced veteran. He couldn't think of anyone else that could be attached to the title so fittingly, and started to become restless at the idea of becoming one of his paradigms. General Pepper sprung into mind, and although retired, what the old canine did for the Lylat System received Fox's utmost respect. The pressure weakened Fox's knees, and he crumpled over next to a tall Cornerian monument, sticking out of the ground and rising high above the trees. He rested his back against it as Peppy came and stood before him.

"You can understand why I came to you first" Peppy spoke up. Fox nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the patch of grass in front of him. "You don't have to decide now, Fox."

"No, I do" he cut in. "My father always taught me to…"

"Go on first instincts, I know. He was my friend" Peppy concluded. That tear that Fox had held back previously had somehow bypassed his emotional security system, and darted down his furry brown cheek. Fox looked up at Peppy, with a boggling eyes, and regretfully said,

"I'm a pilot, Peppy."

Peppy nodded solemnly for a moment, but then a expectant and pleased smile spread across his face.

"I know _you_ Fox McCloud" he chuckled to himself.

"Maybe I'm out of my mind to let this opportunity slip by, Pep. But right now I'm just a name and a face, and they can be anyone. I'm not letting my fate dictate itself."

Peppy couldn't stop smirking.

"Hah, I knew you wouldn't take it, Fox" he admitted. "But I had to ask. You know me."

Fox nodded understandingly.

"I know that feeling you get when the right thing comes along. I'll wait for it."

Peppy gave his old friend a warming slap on the back.

"Then I've got something else for you."

For the first time since he had moved all his business into his new office, Peppy Hare activated his tactical HUD via a control pad on his work desk. Falco Lombardi crossed his arms tightly inside the sleeves of his black rawhide jacket, and had his sunglasses perched on the crest of his head. He was chewing something in his beak, and donned a solemn frown as he glanced up at the HUD. It beamed to life, and a turquoise background faded into view. Fox McCloud rested against the desk, and allowed his face to soak up the last of the day's sunlight shining through the office's main viewport. ROB-64 had himself standing behind the two pilots, subdued.

"ROB, if you could close the office doors, please" Peppy asked before fetching a wooden rod from his desk. As the robot closed the doors using a switch on the wall, Peppy activated a mechanism that sent the HUD screen down over the viewport, within reach of his rod. Fox's sunlight was killed, and the briefing began. "Gentlemen, what you're about to hear, you are to tell to _nobody_. This is strictly classified, it is not even _legal_" Peppy announced. Falco cracked a grin and friction ignited between his rubbing wings.

"Oh I _love_ these ones" he giggled immaturely.

"Did you hear that ROB?" Fox asked, turning back to his robotic colleague.

"Affirmative."

Peppy pointed the rod at a trio of red dots above a representation of the planet Corneria, pictured on the screen behind him.

"There are three ships here. Two of them, are you two" Peppy said, poking the rod in Falco and Foxs' directions. "The other one is a small transport, holding three Cornerian soldiers. The most important member of these three is Dash Bowman – whom this mission will center around. You are to escort Bowman and his accomplices to _Venom_."

Falco changed the chewing pattern on whatever was in his mouth, and his eyes widened.

"Whoa."

Fox didn't say anything, but was obviously surprised by the announcement as well. Falco observed his wingman stand up straight and begin to tap his right foot.

"You're probably going to run into a bit of trouble – first and foremost: the Venomian Remnant. Other threats may include space pirates. I need Dash to get to the surface of Venom, and I need him to be within traveling distance of Andross's Palace."

"Oh, this is getting better and better" Falco moaned.

"Pep, what's going on here?" Fox voiced. Peppy hesitated, but realized he was in the company of some of the most trustworthy people he knew.

"Bowman – you know him. You've flown with him before."

"Yeah" Fox nodded. "Not too shabby behind the controls of a Cornerian fighter."

"Yes, well, Dash is the grandson of Andross Oikonny. If anyone's going to liberate a planet hell-bent on nominating leadership – it's Dash. He has the blood, he has the intelligence – and he _knows_ he can do it."

"I don't see how one ape is going to change anything on _that_ planet" Falco said.

"He has some contacts already on the planet, and he can appeal to family members for help. Dash Bowman's name is known on Venom already – and they know he fights for the Cornerians, too…"

"Then its suicide" came Falco's voice again.

"Any simian who wants to stay alive won't touch the grandson of Andross Oikonny. But we have to give him a shot, or else the commander-in-chief is going to start herself another war, and a lot of innocent lives will be lost."

"_Again_" Falco added sarcastically. The avian took a deep breath and shrugged and looked at Fox. The captain mercenary's eyes were fixed on the HUD screen behind Peppy, depicting the planet of Venom, and a couple of defense outposts based around the planet. He returned Falco's look when he saw his wingman turn from his peripheral. "All we have to do is get the guy down to the surface, and keep him alive. It's your call, Foxie."

Fox looked as if he was contemplating, took into account Falco's input, and acknowledged him with a nod. Falco was right, it was simple, but Venom was packed with trigger-happy pilots who had been exposed to bloodshed plenty of times before. Fox brought his eyes to Peppy.

"I don't know, Pep. I don't know if Dash can handle it down there on his own. Falco's right – it's… dangerous. Very dangerous."

"Private Tommy Narl and Corporal Monty Endico will be assisting him once he's on the ground. All you two have to do is fly them in there" Peppy informed. "The reward for this mission is, obviously under the table, tax free. Twenty thousand Cornerian dollars."

That mustered a reaction from the two pilots, and they exchanged satisfied looks.

"Well…" Fox started. Falco was quick to intervene.

"Hold on a second, Pops. Surely you can spare some more cash at the military's expense for your old pals."

Fox wasn't happy with Falco's remark, and glared at him. The avian shrugged.

"We need the money, Foxie."

"I know we do Falco but I'm not extorting funds from the military. It's wrong, and it could get Peppy into trouble. We get paid for the job we do Falco, and that's it!" Fox snapped. Falco didn't like it when Fox got heated up, and shook himself loose.

"Alright" he nodded. He gestured at Peppy. "Sorry, Pops. Didn't mean it like that."

"I can understand your misfortune lately, Falco. But I can't just withdraw money from the military – there's a good chance your pay for this mission might have to come out of Dash's family stash."

Falco felt guilt as his greed had caught him out yet again. Peppy bit his lower lip and sat down behind his desk. "But I'll see what else I can do for you in the meanwhile."

Fox sighed as Falco had placed a burden on the old hare's shoulders, and his wingman wouldn't be hearing the end of it for a good while.

"Alright" Fox declared. "When do we leave?"


	6. Treading On The Tiger's Den

**Admiral Endico – Corneria Airspace**

The endlessness of such an absurd concept baffled one's mind. How a single object could encompass an incomprehensible mass of life and span for all eternity was only but one of the mysteries in the universe. It was somewhat reflective of the mindset of a particular individual, gazing at this vastness through a transparent viewport as if he had no greater purpose in life. Questions – questions this individual had, about purpose. These questions and other thoughts spawned in his mind and ached like splinters. Splinters that had been there for years. Splinters that had bothered him upon signing up as a cadet on a Cornerian battle-ship. This mass of overwhelming thoughts would jerk and yank inside his head constantly. Sometimes he believed himself to be going insane. He shrugged, and half-smiled at the thought as he remembered where exactly he was standing. Maybe he was going insane, but he _was_ standing on the bridge of a Cornerian _Triumph VII_-class Space Defender, and these thoughts would have to wait.

Stern voices of crewmembers attempting to make outgoing transmissions, small flashing lights, and walking bodies populated the bridge. The working atmosphere had escaped him for a few moments, but now the good admiral was in the mindset of a leader who made all the right decisions

The turquoise and white orb of Corneria floated in plain sight, and had the undivided attention of arguably the most battle-scared Cornerian in the armada. 'Endico' was his name – and that was all anyone would ever refer to him with. Fur that was supposed to be ginger blanketing the left-hand side of the feline's face, with time, had developed traces of grey amongst the thick black stripes. The other side of his face had been singed by flames intending death a couple of years ago, which had left a distinctive memoir. Bubbles of hardened skin were spread across an entire cheek and around the admiral's eye. It was a pale color, mostly, but plum colored cooked flakes rested atop of the craters indenting Endico's face. He was the type of military traditionalist that wore his injuries like his medallions – full of pride. And medallions he had plentiful, as he did injuries. The proud admiral stood aboard the bridge of the _Silver Tiger_. The transparent domed bridge above his head offered the illusion that the crewmembers of the ship were going about their duties in the openness of space, and above the heads of the bridge crew, one could spot the nearby planet of Sauria, and in the far distance, the lemon colored 'X' nebula of Sector X. A lengthy white platform throbbing with a cyan shine pumping through the tubes on either side of it currently provided the bridge crew with two functions. The first was an easy indication of the ship's stabilized shields, which could tell members of the bridge crew the shields' status almost instantly. The second was to provide an outpost for the admiral as he pondered what to do with the remainder of unidentified ships in Cornerian Airspace. The bridge crew was situated on either side of Endico, inside a lower segment of the bridge below the main platform. Computer terminals dominated the wall space around these two trapezoid areas, flashing alerts and sounding minor beacons. Operators had to be organized, planned, and quick-thinkers to be aboard Corneria's finest defense ship, as this meant attending to several tasks at once. They moved around each other through the operations complex like bugs attempting to gather food for their queen, and somehow kept the ship up and running while juggling with assorted chores as well. A golden hook with a tip so sharp it could cut a gash in his side if he wasn't careful, was brought up so the arc rested against the old tiger's jaw. They had cleaned up most of the bounty hunters that were found lingering around the orbital gate, hoping for Fox McCloud and Falco Lombardi to show up. Thankfully, the less than sturdy _Great Fox_ hadn't made an appearance as it entered the system, and Endico started to feel like something big was under wraps. Little could you find out in the Cornerian Military anyhow, an admiral was too consumed by his own business.

The vice admiral of the _Silver Tiger_ was young. That wasn't an asset when it came to Endico's judgment, and the two often found themselves in heated negotiations.

"Vice Admiral" vociferously came Endico's voice, sounding over every inch of the bridge. The vice admiral came to his side, and Endico looked at the black and grey patched badger with a frown. The vice admiral felt a pushing sensation in his shoulders, the kind of feeling he always attained in the presence of his superior.

"Yes sir" Bucky Bartholomew responded.

"How much orange do we have left in Cornerian Airspace?"

"Not a lot sir, it's seems with a few routine checks we scared most of them off. Still remaining, however, are a small group of what we believe are bounty hunters around the orbital gate."

Endico tapped his claw against a war-torn cheek bone and narrowed his lime eyes.

"Take precautionary procedures, and flush them out with repressing action, I'm tired of dealing with these thugs" the admiral declared. The badger looked down at the ground, and Endico noticed it was he always did prior to raising a point against the admiral's judgment.

"Sir, it would be… _indecent _of you to take matters into your own hands over a group of small bounty hunters that won't take too much time to be dealt with" Bucky said. Endico raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes.

"Thank you for your input, Bartholomew, but the general and I have an understanding about what is protocol and what is time-wasting" Endico nodded superiorly.

"Sir, I think it would be best if…"

"_Thank you_, Bartholomew."

Endico knew his subordinate hated being labeled by his surname, and it was just the tool he used to get the naïve vice admiral off his case. "Now get to it, Vice Admiral."

"Admiral!"

A word beaconing Endico's attention he had heard much too often. From the alcove below him, a young and clumsy crewmember had called him. Endico turned his attention to his communications officer. "Commander-In-Chief Marco has made contact with us, sir. She wishes to speak with you" the long-haired sloth dressed neatly in blue informed. Endico nodded.

"Main projector" he instructed. He briskly headed to the elevated center catwalk of the bridge and stood stiffly at the end furthest from the frontal viewport. Shortly afterward, a blue translucent figure stood before him. The black and white patches of fur and the government uniform indicated to Endico he was standing before Commander-In-Chief Pandora Marco. The signal was hazy, blobs of dead color flicked back and forth across the monitor screen, and the commander-in-chief's image was jumpy. With this information, Endico noted that Marco wasn't contacting the _Silver Tiger_ from her office in the Lavender-Ring.

"Commander-In-Chief, this is something of a surprise" Endico stated genuinely.

"I can understand that, Admiral. I've recently acquired some information that concerns me – very _much_ so."

She left a gap of silence after her latter sentence. Endico took the initiative and spoke up, bringing his shoulders forward slightly as he bobbed up and down on the spot.

"Information?"

"I believe General Hare has taken an opportunity to authorize an unofficial mission into Venomian territory. Permission for authorization never came to my eyes" Pandora explained. Endico could see the commander-in-chief's image clearly enough to identify that there was a trace of distress amongst her, as well as the subtleties in her voice, but most of all, it was obvious she felt cheated.

"Orders, ma'am?" Endico assumedly threw in.

"Admiral, I want you to find the transport ship these militants are using, and stop them from leaving Cornerian airspace."

"But it might take the whole fleet to block them off."

"I want you to stay close in pursuit, and disable, or use your retraction devices to halt the ship from going anywhere. I'm transmitting target data to you now. Are we clear, Admiral?"

"We are clear, Commander-In-Chief."

"Then I advice you move quickly, Admiral. Commander-In-Chief out."

Her image imploded into specks of data, and quickly everything on the monitor was blackened. Endico turned to his vice admiral with a frustrated expression. Bucky could see the facial features of his superior screwing up in confusion.

"This is most unexpected" Endico admitted sourly. He swayed his body around to face the crew beneath him. "Have we received the target data?"

"Yes sir!" came the communications officer's hurried reply.

"Where are they?"

"They're in our sector, sir. I'm bringing it up on the HUD."

The officer turned around and collapsed into a chair, and crazily attacked a computer touch-screen interface. As he landed the final stroke, Endico looked up at the main screen again, displaying a wire-frame grid of the area. A pulsating red dot gradually made its way toward the edge of the screen. They were just out of reach.

"Turn the ship around!" Endico bellowed. And so the team of the _Silver Tiger_ was locked into the deep concentration of combat-mode, and the bodies sifting through the main operations station in the bridge doubled in speed.

Like its name, the ship was a silver piece of shining armor that glistened in the light of Lylat's sun. Even with technological breakthroughs occurring on a daily basis, the _Silver Tiger_ stood out as a monument of a future yet to come. The bow of the finest Cornerian battle-cruiser to bless the Lylat System was pulled together with one main structure. It was that of a gargantuan landing pad, speckled with minute Cornerian _Omega_-class Sunflare star-fighters; another recent addition to the Cornerian Defense Force. The landing strip would have appeared to be exposed to the vacuum of space if it weren't for the thin white shine of the reflective dome encompassing the star-fighters. Similar to the ingenious tactical advantage that the bridge's transparent view into space provided, the landing strip offered the same benefits of being able to see your enemies visually before fighting them. The inactive star-fighters were accompanied by small edifices dotted along the main drag, housing equipment and supplies for the pilots' usage. A communication tower sat just before the largest establishment of landed star-fighters, generating fins and aerials up its body like it was plagued with some variety of biomechanical disease. These aerials were dark shades of grey all over, and stuck out of the structure like overgrown sore thumbs. Atop the tower rested a gargantuan satellite dish, vivacious with all sorts of blinking lights of a rainbow of colors. Each beacon and light meant something different to the crewmembers tucked away inside the communication tower, and they handled their burdens accordingly. Below, patrolling officers on the deck of the _Silver Tiger _performed routine checks on the star-fighters, which many saw as one of the lousiest occupations in the military. But on the _Silver Tiger_ – Corneria's most expensive battle-cruiser – there was no slacking off. Everything was in pristine order, and every task, even the smallest of duties, was carried out to a tee.

Perhaps one of the most distinctive attributes of the colossal ship was the two sets of arcs at the bow and stern. On either side of the main deck were two fins, both twisted inward with triangular points, one arching over the top of the ship, the other encircling the underside hull. These four lengthy arcs were the frontal shield projectors of the _Silver Tiger_, and alike, at the back of the ship were four more, providing a secondary shield and the primary defense of the bridge. A series of bent legs aligned the ship's underside hull on both sides, and if it weren't for the neighboring object of Corneria to put size in perspective, the entire delicacy of the craft's shape from afar could have made the _Silver Tiger_ appear to be a nasty insect.

With a thunderous jolt of the dazzling burgundy-glowing sublight engines, the ship was propelled away from Corneria, and pointed in a direction of space where nothing was to be seen.

The environment of the bridge was rendered with a sense of urgency, while Admiral Endico sat in his admiral's chair quite soundly, going back to the splinters that ached in his mind. The crew below him rushed in all directions to keep tabs on the escaping transport ship. Endico had never had many issues with General Hare – in fact they had agreed on a great many things. Where Endico favored the general's opinion more so than the likes of Commander-In-Chief Pandora Marco, now he was finding himself having to foil one of Peppy Hare's unauthorized missions.

_But what if it's vital, what if it could mean the end to the Venom crisis?_

He tried not to think about such things – it pained him to consider that afterward, he may hold himself responsible for stopping the general's efforts into building a safer Lylat System.

"Sir, at this speed, they should be coming into visual range very soon" Bucky spoke up, leaning on the communications officer's shoulder.

"Give it about twenty seconds" Communications Officer Sloan said promptly. Endico wasn't too hurried in getting back into his leader's mindset instead of sticking with moral logic. He watched the forward viewport closely with a wince as a minuscule white spot popped into view, barely distinguishable against an army of distant stars surrounding it. But it was getting bigger. The crew seemed to be holding their breath as the _Silver Tiger_ gained on the transport ship, and soon Endico could make out the outline. He guessed it was a standard military transport, and that was confirmed when an I.D. tag on the transport was revealed by a handful of crewmembers.

"CMT, one… five… seven" Bucky read out from a computer screen. "That's the tag."

"Hold on!" an excited operator called out. "They have an escort, whoever they are! Two ships!"

"Fighters?" Endico questioned.

"Looks like it – must be. They're too small to be anymore than one-man fighter crafts" the operator replied. Endico bit his lip and emerged from his chair. A cold swelling started stirring in his gut, and if there was one thing that was for sure after being an admiral in the Cornerian Military for fifteen years, it was to trust a gut instinct.

_General, what are you thinking?_

"Can we get a scan of the transport and bring it up on the HUD?" Endico questioned.

"Yes sir" Bucky replied submissively, approaching a spare terminal and hacking in some commands. Seconds later, a skeleton of the transport ship appeared on the overhead monitor, and slowly, color enveloped the frame as more data was fed through the link from the fast fingers of the vice admiral. Endico nodded to himself satisfactorily. Yes, it was a standard Cornerian transport, just like he'd thought. The only aspect of the ship that was against what he'd expected was a blood stripe running across the portside hull against the standard blue and white coloring. He noticed Bucky climbing up from the operations center via a ladder clamped to a bulkhead, and he watched the badger meander in awe to the front viewport.

"Vice Admiral?" Endico voiced. Bucky was quiet for a few moments, until he realized his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.

"That ship, sir…" he started.

"I felt it peculiar too" Endico agreed with him – probably the first time he'd agreed with his vice admiral on _anything_.

"Sir, that ship is General Hare's personal transport ship."

That was impossible, Endico concluded. The old feline's eyes fixated on the sparkling thrust exhaust of the ship before him, as a bundle of feelings and theories came to a collision within his cranium.

_He can't be out here with nobody else but two escorts, he's not like this…_

The rest of the bridge had momentarily halted their crusade of getting hot on the ship's trail, and stopped dead in their tracks. Bucky looked at Endico for confirmation, but the admiral only remained still, tapping the shiny hook that replaced his hand against his jaw.

"Hare never pilots his own ship" he announced to everybody who was present on the bridge. He walked briskly from his chair to only steps away from the front viewport, and rested his remaining hand on the flat transparent surface. All eyes on the bridge followed him and watched his movements closely, until finally he took up a raging fist and hammered it against a neighboring bulkhead. Bucky stiffened up, and took a step away from his superior. After an awkward silence in which nothing but the humming of the computer consoles could be heard, Endico's voice broke into a roar. "My _son_ is aboard that ship!"

Whatever the general's activism was aimed for, it now meant _nothing_ to Endico. The responsibilities and goals of Peppy Hare evaporated from the admiral's thoughts and now he had only questions about the imminent fate of his son.

_Did he volunteer? Was he asked?_

Endico soon realized _how_ he ended up on the transport was no longer any of his concern – the only issue that mattered was stopping that ship.

"Sir! They're approaching the edge of Cornerian Airspace!" came a shout. Bucky frowned and the tops of his ruby eyes took shelter behind a drooping brow.

"Those fighters are positioning on either side of the transport" he informed the admiral as he watched the star-fighters break apart. "They're going to initiate interstellar travel."

Endico exploded with bursts of frantic disillusioned body language. His hook was waving in potentially dangerous directions, he began stomping at the viewport with his left boot and his arms flailed ubiquitously.

"Well _stop _them! Take retrieval procedures and let's get that ship into our hangar!" Endico bellowed. His heart took the shape of a blade as it sunk into his frozen nerves, and shattered them. He knew it was too late for any of that – the transport was already away. Once it had vanished from sight, Bucky dipped his face into an enclosed hand as he sighed restlessly. Nobody dared to look at the admiral as he stood before the main viewport, shaking radically. Whether it was because he was left unaware of his son's plans and concerned for where he was going and what he was doing, or instead he was fueled with blind rage, the admiral had been affected too personally for anybody to say anything. The bridge was once again, silent. The striking sound of hard footsteps on the center platform echoed across the bridge, and with his eyes closed in distress, Bucky felt the admiral's presence come before him.

"Set course to Venom" Endico said with a subdued voice, and with that, he made his way past Bucky and left the bridge. The silence in contrast to the prior outbreak of urgent yelling and frustration echoed the noises that occurred only moments ago, and there wasn't a single living soul on the bridge who didn't feel the full implications of Endico's last instruction. Vice Admiral Bucky Bartholomew opened his ruby colored eyes wide and faced himself to the bridge crew in the alcoves below him.

"We're going to Venom" he said.


	7. Anonymity's Acquaintances

**Fox McCloud – Area Six Airspace**

Venom rested in the everlasting blackness of space in front of him. It was a colored with a sickly olive and murky russet, and the planet itself was so polluted, that hazardous gas clouds looming in the sky created pockets of atmosphere to outstretch the natural circumference of the sphere. Seasick green mist seethed around Venom, and it provided cover to those who may have been lying in wait. The largest planet in the Lylat System, it was a symbol to both Cornerians and Venomians. The definition of that symbol differed radically over both sides of the divide. A culture etched with blood since the beginnings of civilization, some felt the Venomians would never see the Lylat System as something other than to be milked for all its worth.

A croaky drone from Fox McCloud's dry throat noised through the Arwing II's cockpit, and the sound it produced was espousal for the nauseating lump that had accumulated somewhere in his stomach. A poignant cloud of sentiment had amassed first at his shoulders, but over time, had penetrated deep into his body – as far as his heart. It was what Venom did to him. It was the bloodcurdling mist that struck him every time he set eyes on the planet, and it was the dark grip of memories that would always float to the surface of Fox's mind when he least wanted them to. Even the fresh quarantined air that the Arwing II was provided with before take-off seemed to morph into something toxic. Fox felt his fingers instinctively tighten around the control yoke of his star-fighter as his gaze masked the questions he had about what was awaiting his arrival.

_I hate this place._

Aside from the giant of Venom, two other objects were within view, and those were the ships of his comrades. The largest one was the personal transport of Peppy Hare, coded CMT-157, which in this case, lacked its owner. It was a small but chunky vessel, easy to hit and probably didn't have the best supply of shields in the Lylat, from what Fox could tell. It was mainly white, but had a few vivid blue Cornerian markings and a red stripe in an arc across the starboard side. The bridge of the craft housed three courageous fellows, whom all shared the blind enthusiasm of those who had not seen enough grizzly battles as of yet to have their spirits tainted. The other ship belonged to Falco Lombardi and was called the _Sky Claw_, a variation on the standard Arspace-engineering systems' model of the Arwing. If anything, the _Sky Claw_ resembled Falco himself. Instead of the curved wings of the Arwing, the fins were thin, sleek and straight enough to cut through an asteroid. Outstretched azure claws on the end of the wings served as decoration but could also be used as offensive weapons in a cramped dogfight. The whole vessel was a mixture of dark and light blues, which complimented the quills of Falco, and demanded remembrance in the bitter minds of defeated enemies.

Vigilance kicked in, and Fox started the mission with setting up his com channel frequencies. Falco's was already locked in, but Peppy Hare's borrowed transport ship was still yet to be linked with, as Fox didn't want any conversation being picked up by the Cornerian Defense Force on their way out.

"Alpha One, how are we doing?" Fox asked. His voice sounded calm and collected, but on the inside his feelings were far different. A younger and perkier voice responded.

"All systems are go, Delta One. We're okay here. You guys alright?" Monty Endico inquired.

"All systems A-okay. How about you, Falco?"

"I'm fine" Falco responded over the link. Fox cleared his throat to certify the others were listening, and began his instructions.

"Alpha One, I want you to commence scanning over the area. You've got more range on a ship that size. I want you to let me know about anything that comes up. Understood?"

"Affirmative, Delta One" Monty responded. Fox could hear the usage of computer consoles chiming in the hazy background of the com channel. While the trio of ships cruised unhurriedly through the empty airspace of Area Six, Fox's thoughts were with the Cornerian battle-cruiser they had left behind just before the jump. Had they had some kind of intelligence about the unauthorized mission, or had they just been lucky in suspecting a few ships sneaking to the edge of the system? He'd rather not think about it, but he knew that if he didn't, it could bite back later on.

"Fox."

Falco's tone was straight-forward and to the point. He'd seen something.

"Copy."

"One o'clock. Somebody's home."

Fox peered through the reinforced laser-proof glass of the cockpit shelter and low and behold, sitting just above Venom's atmosphere, was a silver gleam.

"I see it. Monty, talk to me."

"Old military unit. Very small, orbits the planet, obviously. I'd say it's abandoned."

"Then why is my ship picking up external com frequencies?" Falco's rhetoric came. Fox glumly quivered his muzzle and took a breath.

_Here we go_.

"Falco, take the rear" Fox ordered. As he watched the _Sky Claw_ drop out of view, Fox applied some thrust to the sublight engines and stuck close to the transport as he swept past. The underside of his hull passed by the bridge of the transport and most probably caught the eye of the piloting Monty Endico. The Arwing II rocked back in front of the nose of the transport, and slowed down to a steady pace in which the others could keep up with. As the trio grew closer to the satellite hovering over Venom's skies, Fox could make out the shape of the object. It was a blocky structure, with a few beacon aerials extending out from different surfaces but nothing more. Fox looked down at his scanning interface sitting on the dash, and saw the same undulating green lines that Falco would have previously. It was a big signal, no doubt, but there was no activity to be found around the satellite. "Our route takes us past that... _thing_. I'm not wasting any time on making up ideas about what we've got on our hands here, let's go."

"Copy, Delta One" Monty responded.

"That's the way, Foxie" Falco acknowledged, sounding pleased. Fox powered up his sublight engines again and the two trailing spacecrafts followed suit. A dazzling display of neon blue gas exhaust tracked the Arwing II as it gained momentum, and washed over the bridge of the oncoming transport ship. Fox felt his stomach twist as he approached the hunk of metal orbiting Venom, but kept as calm as possible, focusing on the implications of the prior frequency read-outs. The object, over the course of half a minute, became large enough to put on show the battle scars it boasted, and a bothered Fox developed a scowl upon his face. Fuzzy auburn and white curls stretched across his temple. A concaved blast wound buckled the shape of the Venomian outpost, and it looked as though it had happened long ago. Blackened blotches of old laser-fire decorated the small space-station, as well as a variety of indents along the hull resulting from collisions. Other small impairments were scattered across the hull and served as evidence of a skirmish, but as Fox dropped his glance back at his interface – he wondered why the station was emitting a frequency. Most likely all communications gear would have been made useless in the attacks, and if not, it certainly wouldn't have lasted in space this long. There was only one rational explanation of the obscurity.

"Monty, can you check our signal isn't being tampered with?" Fox asked.

"Not really, Fox" Monty dourly said.

"And there's nothing else on scanners?"

"No."

Fox didn't vacillate in uncertainty.

"Our equipment is being jammed and tampered with. Take up visual scanning, they can't be _that_ far away at all" Fox said. He shuffled about in his confined cockpit, sending his eyes examining space in all directions, but found nothing. While the group searched, a prolonging silence notified Fox that their opponent was well hidden.

"There's nothing, Fox" Falco assured.

"Well there has to be _something_. You can't disable systems from more than fifty klicks away, at the most, Falco."

"What about _on_ the planet?" Monty suggested. Fox felt the lump in his stomach build, and didn't reply straight away.

"… They'd have to know we were in the system, they'd have to know before we even left Corneria…"

"Don't be so sure, I don't think Venomian sensors are any less potent than Corneria's" Monty said.

"No" Fox ruled the possibility out with a certainty in his voice. "Someone's covering up their tracks."

"Fox?" Falco voiced, sounding as if he were questioning his leader's sanity.

"Don't ask – I just know. The battle-cruiser back at Corneria, and now this. Our plan has been double-crossed."

Fox's words would have left a long trail of silence, if it had not been for the discovery of Monty.

"Hold on" Monty called out. "We have ships entering the area, looks like a group of them."

"Must be a patrol" Falco said confusedly.

"No… Looks like a convoy. Their formation is single file" Monty said, talking slowly as he observed his scanner interface.

Fox sat restlessly in the cockpit of his Arwing II with his hands glued to the control yoke, his feet stiff against the pitch and roll pedals, and the thin fur on the back of his neck shuddering. He guided the Arwing II through its flight path, passing the abandoned military satellite, and moving closer to the swarming gas clouds of Venom. The com channel was cleared of chatter, and now an eerie silence manifested heart-sinking apprehension. Fox heard a minor blip from his interface and looked down at the wire-frame grid present on the screen. He watched huddled orange spots creep toward the center of the map.

_They're heading for Venom_, Fox figured spontaneously. His impulses were right – a further thirty seconds into following their flight path, the trio neared the fresh batch of spacecrafts. Fox darted his eyes upward and toward his port side, conscious of the fact that the group of ships would show up in viewing range at any moment. Heartbeats felt like minutes, and it took a good few throbs until Fox's eyes spotted a sparkle in the blackened void.

"Can you identify those ships, Monty?"

"Negative Delta One. They're too far out of reach."

Fox had assumed that was the case, but needed confirmation to be sure. He heard Monty's voice come through the com channel once again. "Sir, if I may say so, I think we should get to Venom before… _whoever_ it is can initiate their plan. Safe to say that's the verdict of the other two people in my ship."

Fox's reply was quick and to the point, as he had other matters to worry about without keeping Dash Bowman's crew's morale on a positive.

"My job is to keep you alive, Alpha One. To do that, I need you to follow my orders."

Monty's reaction was unsteady.

"Alright, Fox."

Fox couldn't work out quite what was going on, and if the appearance of the convoy was coincidental or not. But he didn't like taking chances, and if a surprise was waiting for the team closer to the planet's surface, the more time he spent calculating the odds, the better. The dark abyss in which the Arwing II coasted through started to drop traces of a murky haze, and Fox knew the decent was close. They're jack-in-the-box hadn't popped yet, but he had little choice but to make way for the transport ship to land on the surface. The pockets of haze started to brush of the Arwing II's nose more frequently, and eventually amassed a thick and obscure gloomy fog. Visibility was tough, and the obstruction the nebula caused to the radar of the craft was a knife wound in the trio's voyage. The three spacecrafts were soon consumed by a colossus of ochre mist, and puffs of lighter yellows swashed over the bows of the ships. The only navigation Fox could resort to was the automatic pre-planned flight route of the Arwing II. The other two ships followed in his wake, streaming through the dismal ocean.

Fox's ship was close to striking through into Venom's atmosphere when the noise came that changed everything.

He glimpsed at his sensors quickly, and suddenly an abysmal sensation surged through his veins and froze his heart. Fox's eyes flared into green spheres as the feeling burrowed deep somewhere in his torso. No doubt the others had seen it on their scanners, too. They were nearing the bottom of the nebula that loomed over the green-yellow planet's atmosphere, and Fox finally fought his way out of shock to alter the course. He yanked so hard on the control yoke that without realizing, he was close to snapping it. The Arwing II curved up quick, and the cobalt thrust trail left Monty with the indication of doing the same. The transport ship was sluggish however, and the _Sky Claw_ had roared past the top of the ship and was already flying overhead.

"Pull up! Pull up!" Fox cried into the com channel. As the Cornerian transport started its ascent, the _Sky Claw_ halted its sublight engines temporarily until the bigger ship passed by underneath. Fox made sure the team was back in formation, and then took another glance at his interface to check for delusions of austerity.

But it was real. There had to have been at least half of the Venomian Remnant lying in wait for them, sitting there idly, like a predator on the brink of pouncing. The cluster of black dots on the turquoise map moved as one as they began their pursuit, but it was slow, accounting for the larger ships quite obviously. Fox watched them slither across the screen forth, but the three units of the Cornerian squad were bordering the boundary of the nebula. It was only seconds later when the Arwing II soared from the mist, with the other two crafts emerging close behind it. Fox promptly gained his bearings, when his heart pounded even harder against his ribcage, about to burst out from his chest onto the electronics in front of him. They'd come out right on top of the suspicious convoy that had entered Area Six airspace only minutes ago. He didn't have enough time to come up with answers, but a fast-flowing river of questions was triggered, gushing through his brain.

_How did that convoy move so fast? Why?_

His curiosity was answered with the approaching laser blasts of incoming enemy ships. The convoy was being chased.

_By who?_

Fox didn't have time to think, only to act. He swiveled his Arwing II through the stream of Venomian transports, coming only meters away from colliding with a handful of them. Monty Endico had taken the transport for a dip, and glided underneath the convoy. The _Sky Claw _followed Fox's movements through the middle of the fray, narrowly avoiding stray green laser bolts. Monty brought the transport ship up on a steep incline, avoiding the column of unknown spacecrafts with a sufficient amount of breathing room. The team of three accumulated above the passing convoy comprised of bulky grey Venomian freighters, but didn't have time for even a sniff of rest – five star-fighters were coming their way – _fast._

"Break apart! Monty, get yourselves out of here!" Fox screamed. He instantly thought of the Cornerian transport ship's fragility, and feared that a few misaimed shots could result in death for Dash Bowman and his crew. From his approach from above the convoy, he watched Monty steer the transport away from the action, away from the nebula… but vulnerably out into the open. It could only be a rookie's mistake. "Falco!" Fox roared.

"I'm here."

"Get on my wing, let's take the fight to 'em!"

That would distract the attackers from taking a shot at Monty's ship, but in moments an assembly of Venomian ships would be gunning for their sterns. Fox wasn't sure how long they were going to hold out, but everything that had been so-called 'confidential' had crumpled to shreds. He hoped for a miracle, but in doing so was familiar with the fat chances.


	8. Enter Star Wolf, The Cross Road

**Wolf O'Donnell – Area Six Airspace **

Transpiring over Wolf's face was a darkly glower. There were enough hate-filled wrinkles rippling the pilot's fur across his face, to sink a battle-cruiser. The glint of sapphire that had splintered his vision only seconds ago had banked out of sight, but was scorched into Wolf's retina. He suspected that image would seethe there for a time to come.

No, it wasn't that he thought he had seen the last of Star-Fox, but he had been convinced that they would remain clear of Star-Wolf's horizon for the next era – until now. In a similar fashion in which Wolf could premeditate his enemy's proceedings, he had paved a route in his mind that he assumed Fox McCloud would take. It was the very action Wolf predicted Fox would not take, it seemed, and he had. He had crossed Star-Wolf, after everything the two sides had endured together through the Aparoid and Anglar Wars. A thorn had lodged in his side, and Fox McCloud was superseding the agreement. It had finally come to Fox McCloud roaming the galaxy with a chip on his shoulder, apparently.

Wolf wouldn't have it.

Space blazed around him. Emerald laser fire from his comrades jaded the battlefield and flickered reflections in his Wolfen III's cockpit window. There was no return fire from the Star-Fox group as of yet, but hell, they'd shown up.

_That's what counts, Fox_ Wolf grimaced. He guided the craft in a fluid sweep across the topside hulls of the transport ships, with the two other black and red fighters following closely aside. The bellowing sublight engines of the three spacecrafts were killed quickly in the vacuum, which wouldn't accommodate sound, but the intense lime flare that streamed from the rear of the customized Wolfens was tribute enough to their breakneck speeds. As the Wolfens flew overhead in graceful formation, the convoy of ten small-sized freighters below became cluttered, as their disorderly movement caused a state of bedlam in the convoy's pilots. In some instances the awkward, chunky ships came close to colliding with each other. Only a few shots had been fired – but already Star-Wolf had created turmoil. Two smaller ex-Venomian star-fighters trailed Star-Wolf's sterns, with shabby paint jobs and patched-up hull plating in various places – across the fins and nose, mainly. The cockpits were cramped and did not allow room for much pilot movement, which Wolf knew would hinder the gang-members' flight abilities. Whether they had any to begin with, Wolf was about to find out.

"Hotrod One, Two" he called over the com channel.

"Copy."

"Copy."

"Herd up the convoy" Wolf instructed.

"Affirmative" one of them said. The white-painted Venomian fighters banked to port and starboard, and disappeared from Wolf's rear-display screen slotted into his dash. Charcoal-furred hands wrapped securely around the control stick, but one was later spared to attend to the communications console. An outstretched finger stabbed at an interface as Wolf attempted to key into Fox's frequency, but he was unable to. This led Wolf's thoughts into assuming that Fox didn't want any exterior chatter across his channel. Rightly so, Wolf decided.

_We're two veterans in a dogfight, Fox. I appreciate your respect to old customs, but intervening with my work might cost you your life_.

By now, Wolf had no doubt that Fox had recognized the Star-Wolf ships. And for a change, the odds were in Wolf's favor – what could two star-fighters and a frail transport ship to do bring down Star-Wolf? The freighters could wait – Rico's boys had them sorted. Leon let escape a delicious laughter across the channel.

"That's not who I think it is, is it?" the chameleon giggled.

"Star-Wolf, today's your lucky day" Wolf said. "Rip into them, boys."

Wolf observed the _Rainbow Delta_, Leon's craft, shoot past his starboard side, and unleash a barrage of laser fire that seemed to have been building under pressure. It filled the battlefield, the shots mostly unsuccessful but a few had caught the transport ship. Black scathes aligned the hull just above the transport's centerline. It pulled away, but Leon would have made short work of the ship – had he decided to pursue it. Instead, he latched onto the tail of Falco Lombardi's ship, the _Sky Claw_, unable to resist temptation. Wolf decided Leon's grudge against Lombardi was something similar to his own rivalry with McCloud.

Leon Powalski was ignorant of the fact a maniacal snicker had possessed his facial features as he employed bizarre flying maneuvers and techniques against his foe, concentrating hard in a trance. The _Rainbow Delta_'s sharp points formed a blur as they rolled and spun so fiercely, forming a collage with the green blaze from the sublight twin sublight-engines. Leon pursued his target as the _Sky Claw_ took a dive, and swung around into the dense traffic of the freighter convoy. The lizard's crosshairs never strayed far from Falco's stern, but the avian was jolting his ship so rampantly, Leon failed at setting a course for a clear shot. The _Sky Claw_ weaved between the freighters, below them, and occasionally above them, and Falco's tactics only became more daring.

It was arguable who hated Falco Lombardi more, as Panther Caroso brought the _Black Rose_ around in a steep arc to pin him down from the opposite direction. The elegant star-fighter disappeared into the labyrinth of flying metals, banking hard left to right in order to avoid oncoming freighters. As the feline narrowed his eyes whilst guiding his ship on a steady route through the madness, he spotted the blue ship of his opponent twisting and turning in relatively close proximity. The only problem was, there was a collection of obstacles in the way. Panther brought his ship around so he would clash with Falco's path, and would either surprise the avian enough to get few shots in, or provide the opportunity for his wingman to take him down. The _Black Rose_ and the _Rainbow Delta_ flew through the battlefield in a semi-circle toward each other, leaving the _Sky Claw_ with little options. When Panther saw the final stretch of the opponent's flight before him, he hovered a thumb over the trigger on the control stick, with his mind lodged into a deep focus, visualizing his enemy appearing in only seconds.

But it didn't happen.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw the sleek star-fighter curve out of view, and plunge into the center of the cluster of Venomian freighters. He hadn't seen Leon take the same turn by the time he had applied thrust to the engines and rocketed after Falco, but Panther's target was so close he could taste victory. The Wolfen roared dangerously fast in the close proximity of the convoy, slipping around one side of a freighter. A drop of sweat formed a river down the side of his lilac face, caressing around his left cheek bone, as the pilot awaited to clear the freighter. He sat in suspense – Falco would be in his sights in only heartbeats. The stern of the freighter came around, and when Panther saw the blue thin fin of the _Sky Claw_, he thumbed the trigger and released a volley of laser blasts. Jade cylinders screeched through space, and instead of obliterating Panther's adversary, instead the shots only scathed the underside hull. Falco was already pulling hard on the controls, sending the ship in an upward curve, escaping Panther's crosshairs. Panther's wingman, Leon, was so enthralled by putting Falco to death that he had been following too closely. The image of Leon's nearing star-fighter struck Panther petrified, until he abandoned his rhythm of chasing down the _Sky Claw_, and gulped as he gripped the control yoke tightly. Resultantly, the _Black Rose_ and the _Rainbow Delta_ screamed toward each other, and a single throb of defeat pulsated throughout Panther before he swung hard to port, rolling up on his wing. The _Rainbow Delta_ did the opposite, and he saw the flash of Leon's craft swooping past. Panther cringed as the crafts came within a hair's length of contact, and scrunched his entire bulk to the left side of the cockpit as far as he could. The smooth black undersides of each craft exchanged brief condolences as they narrowly escaped collision. He gasped with terror as the anticipatory reaction of clenching his muscles set in; gluing him in position – but seconds later, relief swept over him, as the impact never arrived. The two fighters had separated, but looped back side by side together again as they swooped into the maze of freighters for another sweep on Falco. The _Sky Claw_ was already before them, and when the two crafts finally rolled around, Panther's vision was filled with two turquoise cascades of solid, uninterrupted projectiles. They streamed toward Leon and Panther like missiles comprised of a cerulean flame, and moments later, the viewing capacity of Panther's eyes was filled with a blinding screen of sunburst. Upon that, was a forceful jolt. One of the rays hammered into the bow of Leon's craft, the other into his. The shields could absorb some of the blast, but not enough to prevent the _Black Rose_ spiraling uncontrolled into open space, forced away from the cluttered convoy entirely. Leon's ship experienced the same movements, though to a lesser extent, and he was also thrown out of the battlefield.

Wolf O'Donnell tracked the movements of Fox McCloud through open space, sticking close to his stern to stop the latter pulling off somersault antics – something Wolf had learned to avoid from the many encounters with Star-Fox. Wolf didn't spare any attention to his data interfaces; he knew the slightest hitch in concentration could mean death in the hands of Fox. Wolf kept the _Red Fang_'s movements taut, and when his crosshairs caught Fox's craft in an arc, Wolf didn't hesitate. A set of dual laser blasts streaked past either side of the Arwing II, but the next group hit their target dead square. The white star-fighter drooped as the weight of the blast impacting on the shields knocked the stern downward. Wolf grinned – it was too easy. There were no obstacles for Fox to hide amongst, and the _Red Fang_ was fitted with a faster set of engines than the Arwing II. All Wolf had to do was follow, and shoot. He wasn't sure if Leon and Panther had finished the Star-Fox ace-pilot off or not, but even if they hadn't, he knew Falco couldn't afford to leave the delicate transport ship undefended.

_This time Fox, it's just you and me._

His scrumptious thoughts were cut short by a transmission through the Wolfen III's com channel.

"Wolf!"

He knew the voice. It sounded weakened, however, and desperate. It was icing on the cake.

"Now, now, Fox. Don't go begging for mercy… _You_ broke the rules" Wolf declared.

"Wolf, we've been set up!" Fox cried. Regardless of Fox's words, the fact that he sounded as if he were on borrowed time charmed Wolf. He took a quick glance at his communications interface, and a pulsating message box informed him that Fox had now unlocked his private frequency. He didn't reply however, the frantic and terrified cries of Fox was music to his ears. "Wolf, you can't do this! I thought we were allies! This isn't like you!"

"Some things change. I'm not sadistic, Fox. If I don't destroy you, you'll destroy me. We both know the game" Wolf said. Even so, the admiration he had for the famous vulpine was tarnished by the way his life had been outshone by Star-Fox – if they hadn't have been around, maybe Wolf wouldn't be flying around the Lylat with a money-starved pack of thugs. Wolf lined up the Arwing II in his crosshairs again with little effort, and fed the craft with another volley of laser blasts. Again, the white ship shook radically. From what Wolf could tell, Fox was struggling to get a hold of his spacecraft as it veered off to port with the bow attempting to bring it around in the opposite direction. Sparks were killed quickly as they shadowed into space, but they were there. The Arwing II was losing its shields.

"I didn't know Star-Wolf was here! It's a job! We're here as an escort!" Fox tried to explain.

"Who sent you?" Wolf asked. He was curious, but he wouldn't let the vulpine escape the sweet taste of retribution.

"Corneria!" came the reply. Wolf frowned.

"Military?"

"That's right" Fox said. Wolf noted his voice seemed calmer – he obviously felt he had managed to get through to him. Wolf's grip on the controls loosened a bit and his tense chase of the Arwing II slackened. The black and crimson pearl dropped back about half a klick, and Wolf sighed as the circumstances for victory weren't fit. "Don't do it Wolf. I wouldn't. You _know_ I wouldn't."

Wolf howled and smashed a compressed smoky fist against the Wolfen's dash. Honor didn't permit – he'd be killing the vulpine in cold blood. Integrity swayed his choice, and Wolf cut down the high amounts of gas his engines were burning up. The ship slowed, and Fox's Arwing II came around to face him. No shots were fired, as Fox was a man of his word. Wolf was too bitter to say anything – even the status of being a criminal didn't eradicate all morals, and for that, he despised his conscience.

His working eye dropped from his viewport to stare at his hands briefly, until Fox's voice came back through the channel. "Soon, the Venomians are going to show up. There are… a hundred of them. Or more. They're coming."

Wolf's reaction to the news eliminated his vendetta with Fox for a moment, and he mustered up enough voice to reply clearly.

"How do you know this?"

"I saw them, when we were trying to get down to the planet. We didn't see them until we were right on top of them because you jammed our scanners."

Wolf objected promptly.

"We didn't jam anything."

The line was free of speech until Leon's urgently raspy voice came through.

"Wolf, a Venomian fleet!"

It confirmed the Star-Wolf's leader's suspicions. He growled under his breath. Had they been set up? Wolf keyed in some commands to open up the communication frequency to include his team, and spoke up.

"Return to formation. Hotrod One and Two, I want you to block the convoy from going anywhere. Is everyone clear on their commands?"

Multiple replies came back to him.

"Returning to formation" Leon said, also speaking for his partner.

"Yes sir."

"Affirmative."

Wolf powered down his twin sublight engines, and the lime sparkle burning brightly at the rear of the craft diminished to a modest ember. Its loud drone also died, and the tremor inside the cockpit settled to a small vibration. Almost silently, the Wolfen III star-fighter floated in space, accompanied by two arthropod metal contraptions, which shared a resemblance with their designated chief. These two spacecrafts cut their engines and sat behind Wolf's ship, creating the impression they would flash to his defense if necessary. Alongside the trio, were two blue and white colored crafts, more flat-looking and with flank wings outstretched further. The star-fighters of Fox McCloud and Falco Lombardi, the Arwing II and the _Sky Claw_, respectively, guarded the bow of the transport ship, CMT-157, which sat idly behind them. It had taken a few hits and a row of scorched indents had made short work of the armor plating. The gap between the Arwing II and the _Sky Claw_ was minimal, and inaccurate laser blasts wouldn't have made their way through to the transport without the two smaller ships taking damage first. The two groups drifted alongside each other restlessly with an unannounced tension between them. Wolf was always weary with Star-Fox on his wing, and he was sure that Fox would have felt the same way.

The rigidity dissipated from Wolf's shoulders as his anxiety reassigned to the approaching Venomian fleet. He watched through his viewport nervously as a silhouette formed in the murky gas clouds of Venom, and grew larger. Experience and intuition told him it was the Venomians' flagship, and a troubled curiosity settled in his chest, questioning the leadership this fleet was subordinate of. He could make out the shape was something like the warped skull of the late Emperor Andross Oikonny, and no doubt Fox would have noticed this too. Two pointed phalanges comparable with the ears of a troll extended from each flank, and Wolf could only assumed they were aligned cozily with cannons – the Venomian way. About twenty ships emerged from the gas clouds on either side of the flagship, minute compared to their spearhead, and shortly afterward, several twenties more followed. The flagship was indeed a sight – external shield projectors informed Wolf that his enemy had a sturdy shield system, and more than a handful of laser turrets populating the hull would be a pain to deal with. There didn't seem to be any bomb or missile emplacements however, so obviously the battle-cruiser would only have raw firepower to rely on.

_A design flaw_, Wolf thought. A poor paint job was a trait of Venomian production, as well as the unsystematic placements of doubled-up hull plating on arbitrary parts of the ship. Where the Venomians probably thought they had a warhorse, Wolf simply saw the ship as another faulty and vulnerable excuse of a battle-cruiser. But the odds were against them, no question. Fox hadn't been exaggerating – there were clearly a hundred ships, or _more_. Wolf easily identified them as old Invader-class star-fighters, probably recycled from the first Venomian War. Behind the controls of each one of those Invaders, was not just a simian pilot, but a simian warrior with a cause, whether it be to sacrifice his or her life in battle, or to just annihilate anything that wasn't Venomian, in order for the progression of the remnant.

Wolf breathed a titter. He'd seen worse.

The flagship was only a couple of klicks before him now. He used a hand to dabble with some computer commands in order to unveil the ship's identity, but if it _did_ have I.D. tags, they weren't programmed into the ship's database in a legal sense.

_Who are you?_ Wolf pondered, tapping his fingers in a consecutive pattern against his dash. He stiffened up in his seat as the flagship slowed down, taking its position about a klick and a half away. The members of both Star-Fox and Star-Wolf remained still, awaiting their opponents' first action.

But the two sides remained apart. There was no flashing laser blasts, no barricade of interweaving star-fighters wrapping themselves up in a cramped dogfight, and no explosions… there was nothing, at all. Wolf waited for Fox's voice to come through the com channel to solicit a proposition, but it never arrived. The vulpine had changed slightly, from what Wolf had seen.

Like ghost ships, the two sides sat dead in space, and not either party transmitted a single message. An entire minute passed, and still, no progress was made.

Wolf turned his head to the right, caught off-guard by the approaching battle-cruiser that had just arrived from the workings of interstellar travel. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen. It was clearly Cornerian, as indicated by the coloring of the vessel, but the design and structure of the massive craft were something alien, to his vision. Wolf observed the spectacle for only a few brief seconds before going to his main interface, and loading up the I.D. tag of the ship. A message came up after swift finger strokes – the _Silver Tiger_, it was called. Wolf narrowed his eye, and felt the socket of where the other should have been, tighten. Suddenly the complexity of this new entrant didn't seem so important – the novelty of such a unique battle-cruiser had worn off. It was Cornerian, and that's what mattered.

Chaos ensued. The Venomians were the first to open fire, with crimson laser bolts firing in two directions – toward the Cornerian ship, and toward _Wolf._ Beams of fire illuminated space and the contestants in it, and soon it was everywhere; capital ships dispelling beams of light like active volcanoes. A grid of vermillion darts radiated over Area Six, in which Wolf could have enjoyed the view of, had carnage not been their intent. The colonies of minions that had been lying in wait on either side of their sovereign were slow to commence their impetus, but once they were approaching, their formations were incisive and their vectors effectively calculated. The dim shaded needles came forth, staying clear of the crossfire and appointing a route directly for the unlikely amity of Star-Fox and Star-Wolf. He sat still in his cockpit, not engaging his spacecraft in forward flight at all, making small computations, before issuing any commands. The Arwing II of Fox McCloud still remained in formation with the _Sky Claw_, and Wolf decided to make the first move. The two engines of the _Red Fang_ burst into a jade inferno, and the craft plunged forward into the mass of incoming ships. The _Black Rose_ and the _Rainbow Delta_ were quick to follow. It was then when the Arwing II and the _Sky Claw_ plummeted into the action, marking their targets and taking a handful of shots. The community of cerise laser bolts was joined by a new group of azure and green laser fire, and soon Wolf's goal was not just to take down enemy crafts – but to avoid friendly fire. The Wolfen III mingled between the crossfire and let loose a few laser bursts, ripping into the port wing of an enemy star-fighter and sending it in an eternal spiral through the Lylat. The Venomians never _had _been at the top of the piloting tree.

While the smaller fighters interweaved and took shots at one another, Wolf noticed the _Silver Tiger_ deploying squadrons of Sunflare star-fighters. Transpiring events were about to get complicated. It was only seconds before the first wave of Cornerians reached the battlefield, and undoubtedly Area Six was filled with one of the largest dogfights that Wolf had ever seen.

"This is getting ugly" Panther said. Wolf received his wingman's message with an unappreciative growl. "Those Cornerians are going to shoot at us as soon as they get the chance."

"Well shoot back!" Wolf rumbled. A Sunflare came into the sights of his frontal viewport, advertising the Cornerian planetary insignia on both wings amongst the tangerine streaks decorating the craft. Port and starboard beacons throbbed on the end of each hooked fin, only enabling the craft to be an easier target. Wolf brought his Wolfen down in a dive and latched onto the stern of the Cornerian star-fighter, following it through the dangerous crossfire environment. He realized he had broken through into the squad's formation when Sunflares balanced out on his port and starboard, and a few premature shots from a pilot trailing him loomed overhead. Wolf was surprised at his negligence and rolled out of the pack, deciding to take his salvo from above. His tactic was interrupted by a few impacts to his stern, and the Wolfen bobbled up and down as the shields soaked up the shock. Wolf's head shook back and forth, and he grimaced furiously whilst glancing into his rear monitor. Some Venomian and a lucky shot, it seemed.

_Oh, no you didn't_.

A steep incline sent the Wolfen III in a somersault, and the Invader passed underneath unsuspectingly. When Wolf had his fighter level again, he took a moment to align the Venomian in his crosshairs, and fired. With no shields, the Invader melted into flaming wreckage in the blink of an eye, spontaneously floating in a trajectory toward a mob of approaching Sunflares. One of the Cornerians' ships fueled the golden fireball as it was consumed inadvertently, and disappeared into the center of the blaze. This all happened meters ahead of Wolf's cockpit, and swiftly, he pressed his yoke forward to slip under the burning collision. He emerged on the other side, only to rain on a Venomian parade, as aimless blasts were there to greet him. The Wolfen became a haze of colors as it morphed into a spinning bullet, deflecting the bolts with the tips of the barbed chassis. One such laser blast returned to its creator, nailing the Invader in the cockpit. The fragile structure split in two, with a small collection of sparks and a puff of smoke. The simian pilot inside was introduced to the vacuum of space, which killed him almost instantly. The lifeless body thudded on Wolf's cockpit as he plowed through the destroyed foe. The remaining Invader fighters curled around to chase after the Wolfen, and dispelled a torrent of crimson bursts. Wolf broke free of the Venomians clearly, but such unfaltering skirmishing couldn't last forever.

_We need to make a move_. He scanned the battlefield, quickly dividing the Cornerians from the Venomians and determining their numbers. The Cornerians had the stronger ships, but as a wanted criminal, Wolf didn't have a likely probability of siding with them. The Venomians had the numbers however, and he'd learned to work with them before. He could do it again.

"Cease fire on Venomian vessels" Wolf instructed to his occupied wingmen. In the gap of silence that ensued, all Wolf could hear was the faint popping and rumblings of star-fighters exploding around him. Space killed most of the noise quickly, but even so, the ambience of war was fueled by these muffled bangs.

"What's… the… plan?" Panther asked in segments. Wolf couldn't see him from his cockpit, but he guessed the feline was attending to a tail.

"Set sights for the Cornerians… and Star-Fox."

There were no objections from the other two, and Wolf had figured they stood a better chance if they could prove to the Venomians they were an asset. "McCloud is mine."

Immediately, he began searching for the Star-Fox leader, analyzing every ship within view and checking all gaps in the void. First he spotted the _Sky Claw_, but he wasn't interested in the avian – he'd leave Falco for the Leon and Panther. He followed the wake of the _Sky Claw_ with his working eye, and soon found the iconic Arwing image fending off Invaders from getting to the Cornerian transport he had with him. There was no uncertainty – Wolf increased the gas intake of his sublight engines and rocketed through the fray toward the blue and white star-fighter.

The decent through the chaos was quick – Wolf guided his ship above and below flanking attackers, and finally took a dip through the auriferous explosions crackling through the battlefield, forthwith tagging onto the stern of Fox's Arwing II. Fox's experience in dogfights naturally had him avoid Wolf's first volley of green laser fire, ducking under it slightly, and by then he must have recognized the ship, for a communications frequency was keyed through to the _Red Fang_. There was a prelude of fizzing static, followed by a disillusioned bark.

"Wolf! What are you doing?" Fox growled as he rocked back and forth between passing fighters. Wolf narrowed his singular eye, and created a psychological abyss in which he could only see the rear glowing engines of the Arwing II. He chased the fighter through thick and thin, not straying even a meter behind. The idea of his long awaited reprisal was mouthwatering; however the gift had only been delivered at the expense of the circumstances. There was no nobility here – only business. When Wolf spoke his words were simple, slow and spaced out.

"It's _survival_ Fox… If you can't beat 'em… _join 'em_" he remarked.

"Hypocrite!" Fox's voice bitterly assaulted.

"I'm, _sorry_, Fox" Wolf said. His voice was heavy but ached, as if there was a compassion hiding away in corners of desolation sheltered deep in Wolf's heart. He meant it. "Kill or be killed."

He swallowed hard and flicked a switch, blocking further contact with Fox. His twisted affiliation with Fox ended there. As if his hands weren't molded around the control yoke's grip enough, his clench tightened, and the sweat drops surging from his forehead spawned additional streams. Lastly, a fiery eye was strained by its brow and a cheek bone, as the mercenary stimulated his concentration with what had to be done.

The _Black Rose_ was in relative safety in comparison to the gargantuan clash occurring before it. Panther Caroso observed the battle closely, and watched the star-fighter of Leon cruise past on his starboard.

"I'm going for the transport, it should cripple them" Leon's voice came through. "You should stick with the convoy, try and get that freight we're looking for… as well as find a way out of here."

"The Venomians have ceased fire on Rico's ships, they're rounding up the convoy now" Panther informed, deviating around Leon's indirect command.

"Just find that cargo so we can get out of here" the lizard came black briskly, not afraid to challenge the feline's judgment. The _Rainbow Delta_ shot off into the scrimmage, curving up toward the battered transport ship that Star-Fox had brought along for the ride. Panther noticed the _Sky Claw_ setting a vector to meet with Leon's trajectory, and winced at the thought of Lombardi still being alive. He circled his fighter toward the convoy for another pass, activating his scanners with the push of a button to examine each Venomian supply ship upon nearing close enough.

It was minutes later, and Fox McCloud was still alive, but Wolf O'Donnell wouldn't let him escape death – not _this_ time. The two fighters flipped and barrel-rolled through the volatile surroundings, and Wolf's ship left behind a wake of destruction wherever it flew. Scorched debris and dismembered star-fighter remains floated lifelessly in a path swiveling through the skirmish – the typical sign of Wolf's frustration and growing impatience.

"We've been played. There's no cargo. The convoy is empty."

Panther's acidic tone filled the near-silence of the Wolfen III's cockpit, and a sour taste bubbled at the back of Wolf's tongue, the bile salt that always formed when disaster reared its ugly head.

_The money! _Wolf raged to himself as he heard Panther's voice. It continued. "They're returning to base, not finishing off a supply run."

Whilst Panther's voice was disappointed and agitated, the fuse in Wolf's head had just been set off. They'd been double-crossed.

_Nobody_ double-crossed Wolf O'Donnell.

"Panther, get us out of this mess" he ordered. Panther replied systematically, telling Wolf he'd already predicted the question.

"Cornerians and Venomians are blocking possible escape vectors. The _Silver Tiger_ has taken position behind the convoy, and an outer layer of star-fighters has formed all around us."

"Cornerians or Venomians?"

"_Both_, Wolf."

Wolf watched the stern of the Arwing II bank to port, and followed through, but not as closely as he had been doing. He tried to take brief glances at the conflict around him, attempting to determine the odds of their Star-Wolf's dire situation. Who was winning, the Cornerians, or the Venomians? There were ships everywhere, he couldn't tell. As he peeked down at his dash, the ship's computer had counted approximately the same amount of fighters on either side. He snarled. If they had a shot at fleeing Area Six – it was centered at the blazing turrets of a battle-cruiser.


	9. Space Antics

**Fox McCloud – Area Six Airspace**

The numbness formed bubbles beneath the hairs on Fox McCloud's fingers as they constricted the control yoke, stiffened with the odds against them, restricting the limits of maneuverability. Though the sweat seeping between the trenches of Fox's finger gaps formed slippery grease around the control stick, his grip was firm and didn't budge. The vulpine's heart had been beating in his mouth for the last ten minutes as laser crossfire blared across the star-field, and as shots aimed to kill skimmed past his Arwing II's port and starboard fins. Internal pressure systems worked their hardest to maintain a comfortable environment inside the confines of the domed cockpit, but most of the craft's remaining energy had been transferred directly into the rear shields – and for good reason. The crisp smell of the overworking internal generators stunk like the foulest thermal craters on Zoness, and notified Fox that there had to be short-circuit somewhere behind the sublight engines for energy to be building up that fast.

_Wolf isn't giving up this time_, Fox dourly admitted to himself. But for every time his adversary squeezed the trigger; that was another set of laser blasts that wasn't aimed at the CMT. Fox wasn't sure how the young Cornerian soldier was holding together within the tin-can hull of Peppy's transport ship, but he was out of harm's way – to some extent – and he was alive. In spite of his computers squealing with bleeps and blobs of complaint, and the occasional hot renegade spark crackling in front of the main console, there was an advantage to Fox's situation. It was time to exploit this small window he had. He voiced his order over the group channel.

"Delta Two, are you still with me?"

_Of course_ _he was_, Fox thought, _next silly question._

"I've got my hands full here, Foxie" a disgruntled whine came through. Falco was no doubt busy, but now was as good of an opportunity as ever.

"I want you to cover Alpha One's decent vector, can you manage?"

"Always do" Falco replied, adjusting his tone slightly to sound calm – that was Falco's overconfident norm.

"Alpha One, Delta Two will cover you. Start your landing cycle" Fox instructed without a moment to spare. He slipped the ship into a sideways dive through a grating of stray crimson needles and hoped that Wolf would be caught somewhere in the middle. When a subsequent shot streaked by his rear engines, Fox knew it wasn't the case. He brought the ship up on a steep incline toward the heavier ships, taking turns at addressing each other with flurries of green and red laser bolts. The dogfighting Cornerian fleet were either ignorant pilots or out to oppose Star-Fox, as none of them had the courtesy to temporarily latch onto Wolf's tail to scare him off Fox's. _Maybe they're just scared_.

Vice Admiral Bucky Badger watched his superior with the utmost curiosity. In spite of the differences that sparked between them, Bucky could not deny his appreciation of the admiral's ability to persevere in the heat of battle, and in this particular occurrence, doing so whilst his son's life may have very well been on the line. _Though_, Bucky guessed, _probably all the more reason why he's keeping a clear head and seeing procedures through to perfection_. Indeed, the Sunflares were not deviating from orders, cemented to the somewhat less experienced Venomian dogfighters like an avian to his bets in a space race. Bucky's black curosteel-capped military issue boots from the DarkIce Mines on Sauria were an indication of the planet's hasty and successful industrialization over the last few years, and served a modest but satisfactory clink on the silver decking of the _Silver Tiger_'s bridge. Bucky's clear intentions were to remind the admiral of his presence, to indirectly inquire for further instruction, but still he was ignored. His deep red eyes slanted down with lack of a response, and used the transparent dome of the bridge to his advantage. He'd seen this kind of battle before with pirates and the like – it was very by-the-book and Admiral Endico couldn't have hoped for much better, considering the circumstances. Because the Venomian star-fighters lacked quality hull plating and shielding, the Sunflares could pick them off two to one. Flashes of the enfilade set off in the battle-cruiser's direction reflected in Bucky's eyes in his burgundy stare, and he gestured back with an open palm to the operations crew down below.

"Deflectors to front port, draw power from the cannons" he said generically. The words served only as confirmation for the crew – they were so used to a set of particular battle strategies by this point, they were most likely already prepared. _No, they _will _be prepared. This is Corneria's space jewel_. Such small directions caused no quarrel between Bucky and his superior; these were not the kind of decisions that resulted in disagreement. Endico stood closer to the laser-proof border, and eyed a batch of glittering missiles boasting red tracer columns streaking through space; almost as quickly as they'd been launched. When he spoke, they were the first words he had uttered for a long time, and his voice was subdued and patterned with ripples.

"Eight-five, incoming."

He spoke only loud enough for Bucky to hear, so he could allocate the appropriate measures to the crew accordingly. Bucky was surprised Endico had not taken the liberty of giving the orders himself, as he was faced with two options. There was a volley of laser blasts heading for the bow of the ship, and a compact but deadly group of missiles aimed for the stern. Bucky could either distribute the deflectors evenly, or leave the defenses open in favor of firepower. He decided for the latter.

"Double up on the deflectors to front port. Intensify rear firepower by fifteen percent, transfer energy from the rear shield generator. Don't let those missiles get through, and send them a wave."

His instructions were clear and to the point, though hesitation swelled in the officers below, as if they were awaiting confirmation from the admiral for such an order. By now Bucky had realized that if Endico had a problem, he would have voiced so. He eyed an officer fiercely standing above seated technician at a blinking computer console. "Get _onto_ it" Bucky grimaced. If the crew's uncertainty had continued for much longer, the missiles would have scarred a disparaging crater in the _Silver Tiger_'s portside hull. The vice admiral turned to the viewport again to watch the Cornerian ship's turrets pump out emerald splinters to intercept the barb-shaped enemy projectiles like a set of monstrous jaws. Quick bursts of flame gave sign that the two forces clashed, but were exterminated by the vacuum before they formed proper explosions. The row of missiles was eradicated in a matter of seconds, and the Venomian cruiser abreast of the _Silver Tiger_ had wasted a decent amount of firepower whilst gaining no ground on the Cornerians. Bucky gave a nod – in assurance to himself as well as to the crew. "Right," he said satisfactorily, "revert deflectors to normal capacity, divert energy to the gaps."

From the outside the glistening fortress of a ship, gargantuan claws in an upright position slowly began a decent toward the stern of the ship. Opposing claws on the underside of the hull tilted further upward instead, framing the _Silver Tiger_ with a diagonal stretch of black arches. A flood of red laser bolts from the Venomian ship's next attack rained upon the side of the ship, though most of the crimson needles shattered like cracked glass upon the invisible deflector shields, while others ricocheted of the hull entirely.

Still, Admiral Endico remained quiet, and Bucky had come to the assumption that the old veteran was scanning the bright and precarious Area Six for any sign of his son; Monty Endico.

"For Lylat's sake!" the admiral cried aloud finally. Bucky's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as an insurgence of gray hairs elevated in a trail up his neck.

_So much for perseverance. _

Endico twisted his body speedily and caught the eye of an officer on the lower deck. "I haven't seen that Cornerian transport _once_ since warped in. _Where_ is it? _Who_ calculated the jump?"

It was obvious, at least to Bucky, that the admiral was resorting to blame instead of pushing further in the search for the transport. Although Bucky didn't want to make note of it, as it was already clear in the admiral's eyes – they had arrived on the wrong side of Venom. The ship was too far away to view Star-Fox within their scopes. Deck Officer Isan was a tough female canine – about as tough as a woman in the military could get – but the uncontrolled rage sizzling through Endico's corneas caused her to hunch as she responded to him.

"Sir, we…" the white-furred canine began to talk, but Bucky's voiced blotted her out as the vice admiral feared she would state the obvious.

"Sir, if you want to get our sights on that transport, we'll have to get clear of this flagship" Bucky said speedily with minute gaps between his words. Endico wore a glare that seemed to resemble the late Emperor Oikonny as he switched his eyes to Bucky, but saw logic in his comment.

"Aye" he admitted, calming his tone and, to the crew's relief, _himself_. Bucky watched the man's actions closely as he renewed his posture, and wondered if he had come to see the distress he was causing amongst the bridge. Endico had broken – only for a second, and now he was back on his feet again, doing what he did best. Bucky would rather be dwarfed with the admiral's disputes about orders than be forced to defend his crew. "You're right."

The admiral's voice was settled, and dismissive of his prior behavior. His gaze drifted passed Bucky and landed on the topside of the neighboring Venomian flagship, aligned with more turrets than shield projectors. Muttering under his breath, Endico made a few quick calculations – the kind that made him an admiral, and then faced down to the lower deck crew. "Deck Officer Isan" Endico called. Bucky listened closely, as he could feel the imminence of an awe-inspiring plan. When the female canine responded, this time her voice was touched with a tone more lively.

"Sir" she said.

"We're going to move the ship to mark point…"

His eyes wandered up to the HUD projected on the rear bulkhead. "… zero-nine. And full throttle."

"Sir?"

"You heard me."

The canine went about her duties, issuing commands to lower-ranked crewmembers. Bucky could understand Isan's concern, as the route would send the ship on a collision course with the starboardside of the Venomian flagship. However, with a ship as massive as the _Silver Tiger_ was, the Venomians wouldn't dare be in for a gamble, and they'd soon plan a vector to slide out of the oncoming ship's trajectory. On the other hand, there was a single flaw with that logic.

"Sir, I know you want to get to that transport, but having a cruiser tailing us through Area Six isn't the best way to go about it" Bucky said, unafraid of any sharp edges the admiral may have retorted with.

"We're not running, Vice Admiral" Endico corrected. Bucky felt a cunning resurgence in his superior's statement. "With that amount of turrets attached to the hull, that flagship is a poor example of a well-balanced vessel. What it has in firepower, it lacks in defense."

Bucky was confused, indicated by his sinking brow. "We force them to take evasive action and move to our port with the ramming maneuver, use our portside turrets to eliminate their sublight drives… and they're sitting ducks."

Bucky could appreciate the admiral's innovation.

"My cousin happens to know a very athletic duck, sir."

The admiral looked at him blankly for a moment, but then went back to the viewport. Bucky thought he may have seen the beginnings of a smile on the admiral, but he guessed that because Monty Endico was somewhere out there amongst the vicious laser crossfire, he couldn't bring himself to divide his focus, _at all_.

It was the variety of undertaking that Fox McCloud knew only Falco Lombardi was insane enough to burden. The sky-colored cerulean of the ship's markings to the deepest tones of navy were a bundled flash as the _Sky Claw_ soared through the smog of Venom's upper atmosphere, arcing tightly to lead the CMT-157 Cornerian Transport to the unsightly surface of the planet. Falco's craft rocked back and forth gently on the nose of the transport as he adjusted his piloting to the change in gravity, and glanced at his scanners. Falco clicked the end of his vivid yellow beak together, and chirped curiously.

_If they're not sending a detachment to take care of us, they must have something real hot on the ground_, he realized. He flicked the comm. center switch somewhere above him, and spoke clearly. His voice didn't hide the fact that a tough obstacle was ahead for the inexperienced pilot trailing at the rear.

"Alpha One, you're not gonna like this."

Monty's reply was swift.

"I thought as much, Two."

There was a gap of silence as the possibilities queued up in Falco's head, and in spite of his small brain in comparison to most other species', the avian's natural tendency to process cargo-holds of information summed up his situation quite vividly enough. The Venomians weren't accustomed to dare attempt anything fancy – they stuck to quantity over quality. Lasers and ships with no shields, Falco figured…

… _But a lot of them_.

"Two?" Monty spoke over the comm. when Falco remained silent. The avian's reply was sharp.

"Scan a surface check. Tell me what you find."

Monty's reply connected with the ace pilot's last syllable –

"Lots of black dots?"

"'Kay" Falco muttered. The trick was not only getting Monty's ship to the surface in tact, but also to prevent it from being ravaged beyond repair shortly afterward. "Here's what we're going to do, Alpha. You're going to lay low on your thrusters – there's nothing in pursuit, so you're going to be tail-free. The fun part is on the surface, that's where it'll heat up. But stay back and wait for my word… I'll have to teach these Venomians a thing about style."

"Acknowledged, Two. Don't die."

"Hey. It's me" Falco chirped.

The taste of ridiculous odds was far too sweet for Falco to ignore. As the gaseous clouds strayed away from either side of the _Sky Claw_'s nose, the crust of the planet awaited approximately eight klicks below. The engine of the fighter craft released a piercing shrill as the nose cut an invisible path through Venom's atmosphere, as a sapphire track of gas exhaust painted the sky. Within the cockpit itself, the engine was a subdued hum, its only other sign of presence being a controlled jangle as the craft dipped lower toward the ground, almost on a zero degree angle. Falco didn't spare a glance at the dot representing Monty's craft on the scanner drop off; he didn't need to. The velocity of his craft would have left it undefended and for dead if he spared his antics too much time. But there was by-the-book method, and a _Falco Lombardi_ method, for everything. He swallowed and released a breath when the first wave of Venomian Interceptors came into his forward field of vision. These recently modified models featured the same patriotic Venomian color scheme as their predecessors, which made the underside gray undefined against the gloomy landscape of the planet, but Falco was guessing they sported more complex internal computer systems and rearrangement of certain physical features on the hull – to keep up with modern-day technology, and budgeting constraints. It was time to prepare the _Sky Claw_ for a physical hardship, more so from the pilot himself rather than the imminent laser barrage. Blue feathery digits extended to alter settings inside the _Sky Claw_'s cockpit on a keypad neighboring the HUD system. Ejection systems, cannon trajectory angles –

_Stuff you don't want to mess with usually_, Falco told himself. He was going to kick himself after he made back alive – _if I make it back alive_ – for his antics, but not even Star-Fox's ace pilot could defend the transport ship from a horde of Venomian Interceptors. Something in the ship's organs shifted with a thud, and Falco felt the _Sky Claw_ dip momentarily. He brought the nose up again steadily, keeping his head clear and his breaths slow.

What he'd done was looked upon as extremely dangerous, naturally – releasing the bomb shaft's pressure-grip on the capsule and letting it sit on a mechanized coil resulted in the bomb, if shot, only marginally traveling faster than the ship itself. In most cases, the pilot would not have time to react, and collide directly into the package.

The squadron of about ten crafts would be killable had Falco had a wingman with him, but the odds were too much of a gamble for a linear dogfight. They closed into firing range – the odd orange and gray crafts shaped like simian skulls scrambled amongst themselves to confirm that – but Falco refused to allow his trigger-happy digits to squeeze down on the control yoke's firing button. Instead, he charged into the entanglement of crimson salvo after salvo, erratically jerking the ship between sparkling red needles as if it were enduring a mechanical seizure. An explosion notified Falco that two of the Interceptors had even collided together in efforts to track the _Sky Claw_ for a clear shot. Resulting debris from the impact hailed through his path, followed by deathly black smoke and vivid embers. He slammed the ship to port to avoid taking any brunt damage, swaying his arms wildly but unfalteringly maintaining the stiffness of the remainder of his structure. There was hardly any room to maneuver, and Falco's jaw gritted together fueled by a new intensity of nearly clipping another Interceptor's trapezoid fin. He instinctively used the pitch and roll pedals to lunge downward closer toward the distant swampy surface of Venom, not sparing the action any thought, and succeeded in escaping the volley of enemy ships unscathed.

_My turn_, he realized, as he pulled hard on the yoke and wrapped the ship around on the tightest angle he could to face the nose back toward the scrambling Interceptors. Into the heart of the intermingling bugs, Falco released a nova explosive from his front hold – with no propulsion other than the velocity of the ship itself. It was deemed suicide to use laser fire to blow apart your own explosive projectiles at close range – it was something the Cornerian academy only needed to teach the lacking recruits – but if Falco had given these Venomians too much time to spread apart before the path of a nova bomb, needless to say, they would have.

There was no question – it was at point blank range and none of the Interceptor's hulls could endure such a blast. Neither could Falco's for that matter, but by the time he had thumbed down on the trigger of his laser cannons, he launched the ship into an escape vector. Sky blue bolts cracked open the delicate casing on the bomb, and sonic grinding pulsated through every bone and capillary within Falco's body. He felt an unmatched force try to suck his entire mass through small crevices in the back of his seating, and a jolt which radically changed the ship's pace counteract it. Complimenting the magnitude of the exploding nova bomb's force was a blinding glare, a hazy lime green, which consumed all other color and shadow. No other sounds were permitted through his eardrums – the laser fire, engine turbulence and chaotic bangs that had sounded only seconds ago had now been chewed and swallowed by a void and there was only the catastrophic pressure of Falco's skull slowly compressing on either side. Interceptors surrounding the _Sky Claw_ were not given consent to explode, they simply vanished and their essences were merged with the chartreuse illumination.

A sense of touch returned to the tips of Falco's digits, started there, and radiated through the rest of his body. Soon he had regained control of himself and the invisible force pinning him to his flight seat was lifted like the retraction of a muscular spasm. He let out a sigh when it felt as if the last time he'd dared breathe was minutes ago. His right arm, shaking and weak, flicked a switch. The _Sky Claw_'s vitals appeared on the read-outs as damaged, but flyable. Mostly cosmetic damage, Falco guessed. He spoke over the comm. to Monty.

"Alpha, you there?"

"Copy, Two" Monty spoke back at him. Falco thought he'd heard some of his own cockiness in the feline's voice. "That looked pretty, Two. What did it do?"

"Nothing wrong with a bit of roulette, Alpha" Falco replied smugly. "Speed up and plot a course straight through the cloud of that bomb. It looks like there's an installation on the ground. Land where you like, just not there. I'll distract their turrets so they won't even see you copy. Are we clear?"

"Acknowledged Two, don't…"

"… Die, yeah, I got it."

Falco spared a look at his scanners and watched the CMT's dot representative move back into range, set on a vector that would send them to the ground of Venom unharmed.


	10. A Burden To Bear

**Wolf O'Donnell – _Lone Star_, Area Six Airspace**

Wolf O'Donnell made a step outward from his Wolfen fighter into the large spacious rectangle that comprised the hangar bay with a Venomian heavy-duty military issue boot. The channels running adjacent across the sole of his boot scraped against the battered and darkened metal floor plating with a metallic chime. He had imagined it had been, in a previous life, a gleaming silver arrangement of floor panels – an accommodation to some variety of royalty, but this ship had seen many years of service. And from what Wolf could tell, those years had been shared to very different captains. The state of the hangar itself was indicative to Wolf the conditions of what remained to be discovered, and also suggested the variety of the crew that dwelled within. The intentions of this hidden crew was sitting in his mind vividly – space-drifters that were unable to earn a healthy sum acting on their profession, and instead preferred to feed on the misfortune of others. The skin around his eyes tightened as unsolved mysteries filled his sights. There was a ripple in the fur across his face as he slowly scanned the unidentified ship's hangar bay. Wolf's eye caught a rise of pointed barbs and curved fins silhouetted by the red of the ship beacons, completely black and hidden to his left a considerable distance away with the companionship of encompassing shadow. It took a few moments to run through a handful of possibilities – but a sudden jolt fizzled throughout his innards at what the towering outline implied on his vision. The slumping turret hanging from a wing, recently dismounted and connected only by electrical components, the crater triangulating deep within a front hull catching only a glimpse of light to make an appearance – it formulated an equation that summed up Wolf's analysis. Battered and bruised fighters, stacked atop one another, ravaged of any object that could be melted down or sold, down to the last sheet of scrap metal. The pilot's suspicions were confirmed, and he released a breath of air. It wasn't a sigh, but a bodily precaution for his expectations. He turned to the most obvious feature of the hangar upon his discovery – an elevated terrace overlooking the space below, aligned with a handrail that would have been golden once upon a time, but was now a tarnished bronze. The lighting in the hangar was dim; it seemed the only source of illumination was from the standby beacons of Star-Wolf's ships. A ray of crimson crept across Wolf's face and rendered him demonic as he turned into the lights from the Star-Wolf ships. Patchy strips of assorted blues covered up breaches in the hull from the inside, obviously some amateur handiwork had been utilized to mend the ship's wounds, suggesting proper assistance was off-limits. Ultimately, it meant the crew of this heavily modified cargo vessel – were pirates.

The three pilots from Star-Wolf stood alone in the hangar, awaiting their rescuers to appear on the terrace, but a chilling period of silence told Wolf that something was indeed odd about their newfound allies. The fact that there was something odd about the entire situation had struck him a long time ago – but it appeared that more surprises awaited him.

"Who are these felons?" Leon muttered tensely, as if his voice breaking the silence in the cold air of the hangar would cause imminent bedlam.

"You know as much as I do, Leon" Wolf replied without moving a muscle. His curious stare was fixed on the run-down terrace.

"You'd suppose anyone attempting to ally with Star-Wolf would have the decency to greet their guests with a nice warm meal. Wouldn't you two agree?" Panther uttered.

"I'm not entirely sure if these crewmembers are in fact our allies, Panther. Retrieving Star-Wolf from a vicious dogfight such as that one takes a need or a want. I'm not prepared to surrender either of them."

"This ship was our only way out" Panther spoke his thoughts aloud.

"Exactly" Wolf confirmed quickly. "This wasn't an act of decency, its blackmail."

An echoed clunk bounced off the dark and grubby hangar walls, and Wolf registered the sound as the opening of a hatch. When gravity caught the hatch's ascent at its peak, the subsequent familiar clanging sounded, which Wolf had been expecting. On the terrace above the trio, brown fur striped with black clenched around the discolored handrail, and tightened. Wolf couldn't make out the figure clearly as it was too dark, and when a piercing beam of light from out of nowhere shone from behind the terrace, any hope of identifying features of Star-Wolf's host had been lost, as they'd been completely silhouetted. The only two features Wolf could make out were a long hanging coat, and the shape of a top hat. He found difficulty in doing this as the light burned against his face and shrunk his pupils.

"Good morning, friends!" a delighted full-throated greeting came. The voice was clear and voluble, and a tinge of overconfidence in it. It was male, and was easily distinguishable as feline. Wolf, had his co-pilot not been standing beside him, could have sworn Panther had voiced the words. There was no reply to the crewmember's comment, and he jolted his shoulders backward in surprise. "Alright, then! Fine by me if you don't say hello!"

"Who are you?" Wolf coldly questioned, partially speaking over the last few syllables of the feline's sentence. The feline tilted his head, as if to ask Wolf to repeat himself – though Wolf did not. In a jazzy performance, the feline made his way down a flight of what used to be silver steps, bringing him into the red lights emitted from the Star-Wolf fighters. Although the crimson beams of light rendered the feline in burgundy mixture, Wolf could still make out the feline's fur tone as a smoky charcoal, with blobs of beige thrown in, adding contrast. Lodged in the midst of the feline's bushy assortment of whiskers was a smoldering stick of Dragon Rock spice. A small ember opposite from the feline's mouth released a trail of topaz-shaded fumes, which curled in waves through the air, twirling up through to the hangar's rusted mechanical pincers hanging from the ceiling. Wolf caught a sent of the spice as the feline came closer, and bobbed his muzzle a little as he immediately noticed the commodity was indeed rich. It reminded Wolf of the scent of flour harvested on Katina; however the intensity of the spice transformed it from an aroma into an assault. From what he could tell of these pirates already, Wolf was presuming the spice was banned on Corneria. Hanging from the feline like an oversized drape was an olive colored trench coat, almost scraping across the grimy metal flooring as he walked. His top hat _almost_ matched the coloration of the coat, but was faded, as if it had been left in the light of Lylat's sun a little too long one morning, and was fitted with a tight black band. Wolf didn't turn away from his host when the snicker on the feline's face became unambiguous, and all of his facial features were defined in the red lighting clearly. His nose was squashed firmly into the center of his face, seeming like it had met with the flat end of an electro-hammer. The mysterious crewmembers eyes were a rich jade color, popping out from the rest of his bland coloring and features like a bent tail. Size wise, the feline wasn't spectacularly large at all – in fact, smaller than Panther and Wolf, and measured more similarly to Leon's dimensions. He swayed before Panther, giving him a quick internal synopsis, and then moved on to Wolf. Star-Wolf's lead pilot watched the feline position himself in front of him, giving the famous and feared mercenary a slow visual scan for any weapons. A hand partially hidden in the length of the faded coat's sleeve moved up to the stick of spice embedded somewhere in the feline's face, and latched a hold of it between two fingers. He removed the stick, and puffed a breath full of spice upon Wolf's physique, whilst leaning back gracefully and allowing his arm to wander down by his side.

"My name is Rufus Haze" he finally answered Wolf's question. "And you are standing in the hangar bay of the _Lone Star_."

"The _Lone Star_" Wolf repeated, demanding elaboration. He winced his eyes a little as the aroma of the spice was a little too sharp to his nostrils for his liking. The coiling swells or orange mist danced around his furry cheeks before evaporating. Rufus, as he had introduced himself, didn't seem interesting on informing Wolf with the in-between details, however the mercenary was determined to acquire them. He cleared his throat obnoxiously. "Let me tell you a little story of what happened out there. Maybe you can fill in the blanks" Wolf voiced. He dropped his head slightly, recalling the mess of laser fire that he remembered the dogfight as. Rufus took a step backward and looked prepared for the pilot to entertain him with a puff of his spice. "Corneria and Venom decide to go to war with each other, and we're caught in the middle of it. All Star-Wolf was here to do was to collect some cargo for a client. Suddenly, there are ships everywhere, and Panther here, can't find a single way out without taking a space-cruiser head on."

"That's the obvious part" Rufus nodded, beginning a pace back and forth in front of Wolf whilst fixing his bright green eyes and different marks and spots on the hangar floor.

"You appeared out of nowhere well within combat range, meaning you were in the area the whole time" Wolf said. He'd already figured the next part out as he finished his words. "I don't feel any impacts on the ship now, meaning… this ship is equipped with a cloaking device, from the eye and radar systems."

"Well done, chap" Rufus nodded with his eyebrows raising in compliment. Wolf continued, not amused by the feline's performance.

"McCloud mentioned somebody jamming their scanning systems – I imagine that would have been you."

"Correct, correct" Rufus said with an excited inclination in his voice. "But you're missing one little peculiar detail."

"Right" Wolf replied spontaneously. "You were here before the fire started."

"Strange, yes?"

"Either this is impossibly coincidental… Or this incident, you had already perceived."

"Hmmm…" Rufus muttered curiously.

"Which would lead me to make the assumption that… you _were_ the fire starter?"

"Hah!" Rufus expostulated at the top of his lungs with a twisted pleasure. He stopped pacing in his tracks, turned to Wolf in a rotation, removed his top hat, and then bowed with a fluid motion. A wisp of spice fumes escaped his lungs and hovered toward Wolf's muzzle. As they neared his black eye patch, the mercenary felt a slight tingle around the curves of his covered eye socket. "You've done very well" Rufus smiled, coming up from his bow. "You're smarter than they say you are, Captain O'Donnell! Just an abominable space nomad you are not!"

Wolf remained silent at the feline's comments. Rufus was starting to get on his nerves, very much so, but there was little he could do about it. "Very well" the feline declared, taking the final puff of his spice stick and tossing it aside. His brown boots, that were probably once black, crushed the remaining fire left in the smoldering cylinder, and reduced the object to flattened mark on the floor.

_That's where they come from_, Wolf remarked to himself. "You've earned the right to know how you can live through your dire situation."

"Have we now?" Wolf frowned. "I think you'll find we're…"

"… Full of surprises?" Rufus capped. "Sadly O'Donnell, I don't think so. Not this time. You're not the oppressor in this little story, I am. So accept your position, and then consider what you're going to do about it, yes?"

"I would consider you foolish to allow me to live, to be completely honest with you, _Rufus_. I don't know who you think you are – but I think you'd better kill me – and my boys here. Because if we _do_ escape your revolting hovel alive, you can be assured, you never will."

He eyed Rufus's reaction closely, but the feline was on his game, leaving almost no leads.

_Almost_.

Wolf had caught the flinch he was looking for, a flicker of the jade eyes. The situation was spelled out for him at that moment – Rufus was seeing how far Star-Wolf could be pushed.

Leon interjected with a comment fueled by the anger dancing at his fingertips, only a hint away from reaching for his blaster.

"I'd cap him right here, and do this whole ship in cold."

"Easy, Leon" Wolf muttered.

"I spotted those automated turret compartments in the ceiling too, Wolf. That's nothing we can't handle" Leon shot back.

"That's not what was on my mind" Wolf announced, raising his voice for all to be heard. He took a step closer to Rufus, looking the feline in the eye with his singular, and nodded slightly. "I think Rufus here, already knows that Star-Wolf won't turn down a profit, and that's why he had the intuition of saving us from that mess back there in the first place."

Character judgment – it was never hard. All Wolf ever needed was just a little time to analyze someone and put the missing pieces together, and then it all became crystal. Rufus, whoever he was, was in full possession of all the facts relating to Star-Wolf, and had already devised a reward tempting enough to stop the trio from formulating a counterattack. Rufus's enveloping smile stuck solid on his face.

"There's no two ways about it, you're captain has it precisely accurate" he nodded. "It's forced business, if you come out of this alive; you have a great amount to gain. And not _just_ in money."

Wolf didn't feel far from wandering through the charred remains of a primeval cavern network as Rufus Haze led him through the ship's bowels. Much of the interior of the _Lone Star_ appeared to be constructed out of a type of wood. Wolf found this surprising has he'd expected the ship's structure would be old, but not so much as to seem on the fringes of abandonment. The darkened network of corridors that he'd been led through by a shady feline were lit only by fiery lanterns, hooked up or latched on dangerously to the ship's wooden bulkheads. Wolf was partially amazed that the _Lone Star_ had not already melted itself down into space dust. The narrow spaces between the lanterns were blocked with a scorched air, which brought droplets of sweat to Wolf's scalp. He rid his forehead of a few droplets before continuing down a blackened, seemingly endless tunnel where the space between the lanterns grew more distant, and finally, arrived at Rufus's intended destination.

"You may speak with the captain now, O'Donnell" Rufus announced as he placed one furred hand on a bolt protruding from an ancient doorway. With a jolt he heaved the gate toward him, and his remaining hand to gesture Wolf inside the entrance. Giving the feline a stern glare, he reluctantly passed through the doorway, aware of what was waiting for him on the other side – a barrage of demands from the _Lone Star_'s captain. He spared a quick thought toward Leon and Panther, who were both awaiting his return uneasily in the hangar bay of the ship, but found himself with few options.

Wolf felt no change of temperature as he came through into the cramped quarters, the same blistering heat lingered as it had further back down the corridors. As he gained distance from Rufus, standing at the doorway, it was slammed shut in a hurry. Wolf jumped to alertness and studied the area around him in search of signs of a trap. However the room's other occupant, slouched in a chair that resembled a bright red throne, seemed quite relaxed.

"Please, sit" insisted a confident and warm voice. Wolf eyed his captor closely, scanning every inch of the captain without missing anything. The captain was coated in a thick jungle of lengthy snow-white fur; spotlessly clear without a single discoloration. He was a bear – and against the dim shades of his cabin, he emerged from his background like the biggest and brightest star in a night sky. Draped in a gown formed of a glittering and yielding material of the highest prestige, the captain still allowed a large portion of his fur to be in plain sight, as if his immaculate fleece was a prized trophy. He had an epic physical mass that consumed the bulk of the throne he was resting on, and mercifully allowed the arms of the structure to make an appearance. On the glowing bear's face was a silver monocle sitting around his left brunette eye, connected by a chain which wrapped around one of his hidden ear lobes. Before the enormous being was a large wooden desk, littered with datapads crowded around an older-model holoprojector. It struck Wolf immediately that whom he was dealing with here was not a stereotypical thug.

_In fact, it doesn't seem there's anything villainous about him at all._

Wolf did what he was told and located the nearest chair – not nearly as glamorous as the throne the captain had placed himself on – and seated himself.

"Would you care for a drink?" offered the bear sincerely as he extended a gargantuan arm toward an assortment of prehistoric glassware. Wolf twitched his muzzle in surprise as he spotted the antiques.

_Any further back in time and this ship wouldn't be spaceborne._

Wolf shook his head in a negative after the novelty of the glasses wore off, as experience and instincts told him to. One never accepted a drink from a captor the first time around, it was the most memorable piece of advice in survival holograms system-wide. The bear nodded, and Wolf thought he had caught a trace of empathy in the captain.

"The drinks are not poisonous, Captain, as I would be dead by now. Secondly, I understand how you feel like a roasted vulpine at current. Trust me, I know – my species also prefers more temperate environments."

Wolf glanced at the vermillion flames rippling behind the _Lone Star_'s captain, and subsequently wrinkling his vision of the rear of the cabin with an intense heat wave. Just watching the flames in the claustrophobic environment lured the sweat droplets from the top of Wolf's head, and began streaming them down his face.

"Fichina blend?" Wolf inquired lightly. The captain appeared taken aback, with an expression of pleased revelations upon his features.

"Goodness, Captain O'Donnell. What indeed fine taste you have" the bear grinned, grasping a bottle without shifting his weight at all and relying on the stretch of his arm. As the captain went about pouring the beverages into glass cylinders possibly even more ancient than the bottles themselves, Wolf watched carefully, but simultaneously offered a nod. He had noticed the continued usage of the word 'captain' as a title for the pilot was a mark of respect, yet most likely adopted to rub Wolf into a more diplomatic frame of mind.

_He's very cunning; I can respect him for that_.

"I assumed you had come from Fichina."

The bear nodded with a tinge of excitement, eager to approach business. There was a gentle splashing as the pouring commenced of the last glass, and he handed it to Wolf courteously.

"Forgive me for not yet introducing myself" the bear said, clearing his throat. "My name is Arctirus, I am the captain of the _Lone Star_, and it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Captain O'Donnell."

_Arctirus? Now _that _name rings a bell_.

A charcoal hand approached Wolf's muzzle on a arcing vector as a hint of danger crept through his veins.

"Wolf… _please_" the mercenary spoke, fighting a gulp.

"Well tell me Wolf, has word of the Luperium ever reached your ears, by any chance?"

Wolf's jaw, had it been open, would have snapped shut hard enough to shatter his fangs. Instead, either side of his mouth pressed against one another to compress his astonishment.

"The Luper…" his voice drifted off, unable to finish his words. He put the shock aside as much as he was capable of doing, and forced his voice box to say something. "Occasionally… hardly… ever" he admitted. Arctirus nodded and his eyelids drooped downward.

"Yes, I would have suspected a pilot such as yourself, who has traveled through the Lylat countless times would be aware of such a word. I don't know what you've heard Wolf, however the Luperium is not a wad of despicable murderers and thieves. On the contrary, the Luperium is quite reasonable in terms of bargaining."

Wolf dreaded the answer to the question that was on the tip of his tongue, but asked in spite of his fear.

"Do you… _work_ for the Luperium, Captain?"

"Arctirus, _please_" the bear grinned with a twisted invitation to comradeship. He took in a deep breath and his grin enlarged into a welcoming smile. "No, I do not _work_ for the Luperium" he answered casually, however his raise in volume suggested something viler. Wolf was correct when he suspected the captain of the _Lone Star_ was only bracing his guest in suspense. "I _am_ the Luperium."

Rufus allowed the length of his olive coat to exaggerate his height as he approached the two Star-Wolf pilots from the base of the steps. His hand slid of the handrail gracefully, as if the feline had planned yet another slick entrance, and then dropped it to his side. Leon and Panther had cross expressions upon their faces when they realized that their captain had not returned, and their feelings jumped to conclusions. Panther watched Leon loom toward the feline in distress.

"Where is he, you whelp?" Leon hissed. Panther noticed that the rubbery jade flesh upon Leon's scalp was sparkling with a coat of fluid exclusive to the lizard's species, and only dwarfed his appearance.

"Relax, First Lieutenant Powalski, your captain is enjoying the welcoming company of my superior."

Leon didn't reply, he wasn't completely aware of how much at liberty he was to say. Rufus seized a hold of the gap of silence, and dove his hands into interior pockets in either side of his coat. From each beige palm emerged a black boxy device with a minute control interface. Rufus offered them in plain sight to each of the pilots, and then explained their meaning. "These will be used to control your actions, and the actions of your captain. They are remote explosive devices, and attempting to remove them once activated results in an explosion large enough to destroy a small ship… such as your Wolfens."

Wolf didn't attempt to hide his grief as he molded a thumb and an index finger to the shape of his brow, and quivered his head from side to side. Arctirus had seemed to expect the reaction, but did not feed on Wolf's release of emotion. He had emerged from his throne now, and was studying the image of a hologram floating just above his auburn desk, standing only inches away from it. The portrayal was that of Fichina, a world as white as Arctirus was, and drenched in a fierce winter environment all year long. Wolf looked up and saw the cobalt tint of the hologram reflect of the bear's eyes. The white globe that represented Fichina centered itself on each of Arctirus's pupils. It didn't take Wolf much thought to realize that it was the planet of his host's origin.

"I would expect you to be more participatory, considering the circumstances. However Wolf, you seem to be consumed in your own distress."

"I'm not stupid enough to think that there might be a way of getting out of this mess" Wolf moaned. Arctirus offered him an empathetic smile. His eyes became unfocussed from the hologram, and he flicked a button with a black claw that killed the image. The lighting in the room returned to the orange tint that glow of the lanterns produced.

"I like you, Captain O'Donnell. You're motives are not focused on escaping with your life, but looking realistically at the situation before you" Arctirus said. "Many of the people that are brought to my cabin resort to pleas of mercy and the like."

Wolf caught a whiff of the fragrance that blanketed the bear's primal scent as he came in close to lean toward him – a supercharge of citrus jungle fruits from the plush rainforests of Fortuna, and too much of it may have poisoned those within its aura. The beginnings of a migraine sparked in Wolf's cranium as he absorbed too much of the tang, and it brought his neck up. His singular eye coincidentally met with Arctirus's monocle just prior to the bear's delayed words. "However Wolf, I think you'll find you're position is not a bad one. You are more fortunate than you may think. A prisoner, yes – in the respect that I will be placing remote explosive devices on your ships to control what you do – but a business associate in the way that we can provide you with Cass Rico's cargo that you so desperately need for the compensation."

Firstly Wolf had been concerned at the mention of explosives on Star-Wolf's ships, but then his attention shifted to the mention of Cass Rico's name, and it stirred a curiosity inside. It intrigued Wolf, even when he was the pawn in a game, to solve the puzzles along the way and keep one step ahead of captors.

_Though keeping a step ahead doesn't seem plausible here._

"_You_ had the cargo?"

"Yes" Arctirus smiled, foreseeing earlier that the aspect would ensnare the pilot's attention.

"Why?"

"The way I plan my business Wolf, is how I succeed. My strategy is to premeditate everything before it happens, relying on the follies in one's character to use to my advantage."

There was a brief pause before Wolf's reply as his realization painfully slipped a prickle into his pride, chipping away at the confidence he'd wielded while resolving uncertainties in both Arctirus and Rico's plots.

"That's how you got to me" Wolf bitterly resonated. Coldness swept over him as he finished his sentence, stinging his ego and pointing a finger in regret.

_I should have listened to myself, if I had only the means to go back and change that _one _thing, I would_.

"Do not be so hard on yourself Wolf, for this little lesson you have learned will result in a reward you have long searched for. Fear not, I do not dig up dirt on my clients and use it for blackmail. Instead I offer priceless gifts."

"I destroyed that weakness long ago, Arctirus. It interests me to see how you can tempt me in that respect, for I've defeated my demons… my wants… my needs. Everything…"

"This is something I know, Captain O'Donnell, that you cannot resist."

"If you think McCloud can…"

"_Not_ Fox McCloud, Wolf!" Arctirus interjected with a snap and a snare. A shot of fright rung through Wolf for an instant, as any sense of stable diplomacy between the two had obviously been an illusion on his part. Arctirus's hiss was sufficient enough to remind Wolf that he was a prisoner of sorts aboard the _Lone Star_, and could be dead in moments if the captain had willed it. He sunk back into his chair slightly as Arctirus placed his hands on the edges of the desk outstretched on either side, with drapes of bushy, dense white hairs drooping from the skin on his limbs. "Please, do not insult me" he growled with a smoldering irritation. He used his right arm to wave a circle over the wide mass of assorted datapads scattered about on the desk top. "After digging up all this information on some of the most feared star-fighter pilots in the Lylat, I've found something with far more leverage than a petty revenge tool."

Wolf's working eye took a quick glance at the clustered datapads as he twitched his muzzle in discomfort at the bear's unstable presence. "_Please_, understand that I have spent years doing what I do, and anything you think you know about your situation, you _don't_. It will make both our lives easier."

Wolf released a hand from his brow and allowed the coarse timber of the desk top to tickle under his palm as he branched his arm over it. With his distracting movements, he bought himself some time to consider Arctirus's proposition before the bear could press him further in retaliation. Wolf allowed a fang to cure an itch in the corner of his lower jaw as he glimpsed at the captain for a moment, deliberating over his choices. A fool Wolf was not – he had no choices.

"What are you proposing?" he asked.

"They're free and completely aware that we have them under our control" Rufus said to Arctirus as he passed through the doorway into the captain's quarters. Arctirus pampered the snowy fur on his chin gently as he stared blankly into an invisible spot on the desk before him. When he spoke, his words were far spaced and dreary.

"Captain O'Donnell is no fool; soon he will realize that the devices on the ships are ineffective. But I think we have a form of insurance with him."

Rufus dipped his head as his faith in his leader was temporarily dampened at the lack of confidence in the bear's tone. For Arctirus, his subordinate's body language was more than obvious. "Fear not, Rufus" he reassured. "For the unmitigated completion of our calculations, we will need to target another of the Star-Wolf pilots. Did you select a worthy candidate?"

"I did, Captain. And I think he will be most helpful indeed" the feline said with a mischievous bane creeping into his voice.


	11. Into The Unknown

**Admiral Endico – _Silver Tiger_, Unknown Airspace**

Tension was running high on the bridge of the _Silver Tiger_, and Admiral Endico had found himself as the catalyst of it. He sat adamantly with his arms folded upon his admiral's chair, riskily stroking the scarred side of his face with the golden claw that used to be his right hand. It had become a habit as before the injury Endico had been right-handed, however afterward the admiral had been forced to operate mostly with his left. He painted invisible circles on his cheek with the bullion hook, staring toward the frontal viewport into nothingness. Whoever had sent the _Silver Tiger_ on an unplanned trajectory through the outskirts of the Lylat had a certain degree of bravery, maybe even cunning, but most of all, Endico predicted, they were _ludicrous._

"I've finished the report, sir" Bucky's voice came from the lower deck. Two black fists arrived at the top of the nearest ladder, followed by a stout body dressed in Cornerian red uniform. His eyes caught Endico's attention first, as they glowed like laser fire and could potentially burn holes in his concentration. Bucky's steps were delicate and soft as he approached the admiral, and handed him a datapad.

"Please, Vice Admiral, spare me the intricate workings of your report and simply apprise the general makeup of it" Endico said bitterly, threatening the datapad with a hooked hand. Bucky retracted it and nodded.

"Upon following Commander-In-Chief Marco's orders, the _Silver Tiger_ was led to Area Six airspace, where the presence of Star-Fox seemingly sparked a battle between Cornerian and Venomian forces. When the _Silver Tiger_'s fighters were dispatched and engaged the enemy, they were successful in pressing the enemy back - "

"Omit the battle commentary" Endico moaned in a sour sulk. Bucky paused, shook his head, and continued.

"Driving the Venomian flagship into a retreat, the _Silver Tiger_ was caught off-guard to a cloaked medium-large modified cargo cruiser. A batch of nova missiles impacted on the port side, destroying our lateral controls as our shields were set to double-front in defense from the Venomian flagship. A hull breach was caused in the rear left quadrant, and subsequently there were a number of onboard mechanical fires. The missile barrage destroyed our trajectory toward Venom, and instead sent us on a route which propelled us away from Area Six, and into unchartered space territory."

Endico's reply was quick, almost as if he lacked care for the report that was being transmitted back to Cornerian Defense.

"Approved."

"Affirmative, sir" Bucky replied just before heading back down to the lower deck.

"Deck Officer, damage report" Endico called out. A female canine face bobbed up from the clustering bodies of the lower deck, amongst the console screens and flashing beacons. Isan's voice was firm but deprived of hope.

"The ship is in a stable condition, sir…"

He cut her off.

"Thank you Deck Officer. I imagine hull breaches and engine fires would leave the ship in _better_ than stable condition" Endico bickered. Isan did her best to ignore the admiral's attack and instead came back with the rest of her analysis.

"Our main sublight drives are non-operational. We've also lost the X and Y axis controls. Our only steerage is left with emergency drives, but they are proving hard to handle with lack of systems we have left."

"Sir!" came another crewmember's voice. Endico couldn't see where the voice was coming from, but it was clear and male. "Frontal shields are also non-operational!"

Endico caught a look from Bucky down below which seem to reflect his disbelief. The admiral dipped his head and released a sigh.

_Such a state of the art ship… and such a toll this scum has taken on us. _He looked up again to address the crew with a satirical comment.

"This _station_ is non-operational" he concluded cynically. He released a breath of air, with the intent that it would somehow remedy the aching pressure slotting in between the bones in his shoulders, and let the calculations floating in his mind fade into nothingness in an attempt to purge his head of thoughts, leaving it as an empty canvas. His fingered hand smothered his face as if the admiral was in agony, and became fused there.

_What have I done to deserve this?_ Endico inquired to himself. A dreary cloud began to cushion his head as suddenly his neck muscles became weak. Endico allowed his head to roll forward further into his furred hand's grasp and warmth, and gently resisted the force of his eyelids snapping shut so he would loose control of his stability completely. It appeared that his short interval from constant thought and calculating had lured him into a sense of carelessness, and his body was giving out on him. Depressed voices and commands from crewmembers to one another on the lower deck soon became haze of lackluster drones, and soon the bridge seemed so far away from his clasp. His curious wonders about his son – the orders of Commander-In-Chief Marco – but presciently his son became more abstract, more out of the bounds of reality. It was called tiredness, and soon Endico found himself in a world of his own, though conscience of all the background noise. Suddenly there was a closer sound – not louder, but more direct than any other wandering resonance in the bridge.

"You've been awake longer than twenty-four hours" Bucky stated meters before the admiral. Endico figured his adamant desire of rest was more than obvious, and a stiffened neck adjusted its angle to provide a view of the vice admiral. Endico's digits faded from his unfocussed view and he spotted the distinctive coloring and shape of Bucky Badger. When Bucky had spoken, his voice was low, almost inaudible, but there was a strength there that prevented it from being a whisper entirely. He had used the environmental blare of voices in the _Silver Tiger_'s bridge as a mask to keep his sentence personal. Endico couldn't appreciate Bucky's implication.

"With my _son_ out there?" Endico mumbled as he looked up. His eyes were pained, his expression defeated and dour, with discoloration occurring on the furred half of his face, but remaining a deserted landscape on the other. Even through the charring and cavities rupturing the man's gray skin, the distressed lines and wrinkles were clearly visible. "To ask such a task of parent whilst the fate of his offspring remains completely unknown, is foul."

"Consider this" Bucky spoke back to him more clearly. Endico wasn't impressed with his tone and squinted. He suspected the vibes of malcontent toward the vice admiral were powerful enough to have an impact on him, but he did not see it on the subordinate's face. The badger continued. "You're weakened state is not a fit condition for handling what is most important at current. And those priorities are the crew on this ship, the remainder of the pilots who gave their lives at our run in with the Venomian Remnant and returning them safely to Cornerian airspace."

Endico's stance toward the vice admiral became more diplomatic as he refined his approach.

"You can not ask that of me, Bucky. You have no idea - "

"We _all_ feel your grief about your son, Admiral, for you have displayed it very clearly on this bridge here in the last few hours, but there are more living beings here on this ship than in that freighter your son was piloting."

"We'll send a distress call and the CDF will rendezvous with us, returning home is not a difficult feat, Vice Admiral" Endico argued.

"Maybe not so, but if we are attacked out here in open space, which may be likely, how is this crew supposed to entrust their lives to you when you're in a state like this? You're feelings for your son manipulate your actions, as does your exhaustion. I strongly recommend you get some rest, Admiral, or this cruiser may require more adequate leadership."

Endico was overcome by the authority of his strenuous form, but the antagonism of Bucky's comment had infuriated him all the same. However, Endico was only able to resort to more basic reactions.

"Is that a threat?"

"Are you conscious enough to distinguish so?"

Endico fought his composed muscles with a launch upward from his chair. This brought him close to Bucky, and although the badger was much shorter than the admiral, the stirring emotion between them was all the same.

"The most important aspect to me in my life is at stake, and you threaten my command. If you crave it so badly Vice Admiral, that you cannot achieve promotion through standard procedure, but instead must slither your way through the ranks – then you can _have_ control of the ship" Endico stated cruelly, his voice suddenly much more lively and powerful. It was possible the crewmembers had taken note of his statement, and it would have wounded Bucky's integrity, but for the admiral it did not matter. Bucky cautioned himself against further words, narrowing his eyes and considering the options. He said nothing however, and the cracking silence between the two authorities was snapped by Endico. "I'll be in my quarters."

Endico left the bridge unhurriedly, slipping past a sliding mechanical doorway, and vanishing from the crew's sight.

When Bucky turned around, he found the crew bustling with duties below him, consulting with computer screens and conversing with plum-colored touch-screen interfaces, but he knew they'd heard. The damage was done.

"Bridge commander" beaconed the communications officer, informing Bucky he was still needed regardless of opinion.

"Communications Officer" he replied. The sloth had one arm perched atop a console, while the rest of his body twisted in what looked like a very discomforting motion. Bucky's expression was grim as Communications Officer Sloan bushy brown structure shivered as he talked. It didn't improve with the young sloth's delivery of the message.

"I attempted to transmit the report to Corneria command as per requested, sir!"

_Attempted? _Bucky groaned inside.

"And?"

"We don't have external frequencies sir – it appears they've been damaged in the attack" Sloan said cautiously, worried of the vice admiral's impending reaction. He'd got it.

"Blast it!" Bucky yelled with a mouthful of teeth making their debut in front of the bridge crew.

The quarters were modest for someone portrayed as illustrious as Admiral Endico. The room was similar to most of the other barracks housed in the ships bowels, with the exception of having a small amount of valued space that was considered lavish in such an environment. Patriotic decorations that weren't the touch of Endico, but rather a compliment of the ship since its birth were spaced reservedly around the living quarters, which included a CDF framed flag, a collection of awards and trophies a top a beverage cabinet of sorts, Cornerian holograms sprouting in alcoves… Cornerian _everything_. Endico would suffice to say the room simply looked entirely _Cornerian_, and leave it at that. It was not far from the standard image most spawned in their heads when given such a description, and the coloring was certainly spot on. A blue stripe ran along the base of the walls and wrapped itself around the room, connecting on either side of the main doorway. The rest of the quarters were white and grey – giving it an illusion of long and wide dimensions, however rendering it boring to some. Endico, as he sat on the edge of his retracting mattress locked in position, didn't mind the plainness of the room – it was in his nature to have some type of order; a _standard_. Upon resting his aching bones and muscles, he thought of nothing but his son. No 'why's' or 'how's', they were beside the point and superfluous. He reached for a control panel just out of arm's length from his position, causing him to shift slightly. He dabbled with an interface lodged into the wall below the shiny pad of buttons, bringing up a hologram in the middle of the room. The type of projector that was built into the ceiling had a silver tint, making the colors of Monty Endico a little off, but still the image was enough to spur the admiral's emotion. Depicted here, Monty had just enrolled at the academy, standing with the famous General Peppy Hare, who was just out of frame. The whole hologram had included the general in his entirety also, but Endico had purposefully enlarged the outline of his son.

"What did I do? What are _you_ doing?" Endico whispered to the hologram, half-expecting the still view to reply. The image rippled like it was in an encasement filled with water, but it was merely the effect holoprojectors created on three-dimensional images. The gaping hole of uncertainty somewhere between his chest and stomach seemed to broaden with the realism of Monty's picture, and suddenly Endico had regretted giving into the temptation of bringing the projection up. The old feline buckled over himself, reaching out sightlessly for the control panel to remove the projection from his quarters, and then arced into his mattress. Before any tears could come – before the grief-stricken admiral allowed the delicate shard in his throat burdened with his grizzly sensation to snap – there was a chime throughout the room, and Bucky's face popped up on the interface aligned against the wall. Endico hadn't quite lost control of himself, so he thumbed down the key which gave Bucky visual access to his quarters.

"Vice Admiral?" Endico spoke, uninterested in offering meaningless taunts.

"I need to talk to you" Bucky said.

"Of course you do. And you can. Later."

"Now… something else is wrong with the ship."

_My favorite kind of visit_, Endico sighed. He allowed the badger in with the flick of a switch, the silver plating that formed the door hissed open, and before seconds passed, the vice admiral came before him, standing straight, looking concerned.

"Communications are out. Nobody's coming for us" Bucky said straightly. Endico didn't reply, and instead threw a claw up in dismay. "I had the techs do an analysis… Just as I thought, we'd been hit by an electro-pulse blast. Not strong enough to knock out everything before our secondary generators kicked in, but strong enough to short-circuit anything it could."

"Mmm" Endico acknowledged with little sound.

"We're stuck out here. We're not getting home. Our trajectory sends us floating into the unknown regions. We have no direction" Bucky emphasized, not feeling the full implications of his words had sunk into the admiral. But they'd hit home well enough; what Bucky didn't understand, was that Endico's stance toward the _Silver Tiger_'s situation was secondary to the fear of what might have been happening to his son.

"Thank you, Vice Admiral" Endico said.

"I assume you'll leave the ship in my command while you're resting."

Moments of wordless noise passed – the humming of the _Silver Tiger_'s emergency engines hundreds of feet below them, clanking footsteps from the corridor outside as somebody passed, and the unfriendly whine of the room's air-filter system. Bucky flinched minutely, and Endico saw he was considering leaving, but he detected there was still much unsaid on the vice admiral's part.

"Do you have something more to say?" Endico encouraged. He noticed his voice had become a little hoarse from all his demanding and instructing at the ship's bridge, and he spoke with a layer of raspy whisper as well as segments of stabilized voice. Bucky waved his hands by his side a little.

"I didn't mean to offend you before, Admiral. I only meant to put things in perspective. I can't imagine what you're going through – I have no children of my own. I apologize for my behavior. But please, let's forget it, and move on."

"Oh, here it comes" Endico moaned. "As much as I feel like diving into the oblivion that my mattress can offer, kid, I can't. It's driving me insane. Monty's on Venom, with what can't be more than a handful of soldiers. There's not a soul on Venom that would want a Cornerian left alive in good health."

Bucky dipped his head, realization forming of what the admiral's suffering may have been comprised of, and offered a slight nod to speak for his thoughts. Endico understood what Bucky implied – he didn't understand the hollow and sickly feeling upon him, but he had left a bubble of space in his imagination. "Furthermore," Endico spoke up, "I apologize for how I responded. You said the same things I would have to my superior ten years ago. And for Corneria's sake, you're _right_ Bucky… I can't do this on my own."

"It's in the past" Bucky resolved. He sighed at the direness of the _Silver Tiger_'s realistic chances of being rescued by Cornerian forces, and the probability of the wounded ship coming under assault.

"What are we going to do, Admiral?" Bucky asked.

"The only thing we can do, Vice Admiral," Endico replied as he returned to formalities, "we wait."


	12. Piggy In The Middle

Krystal – Jewel Of The Lylat Space-Station, Katina Airspace

**Krystal – **_**Jewel Of The Lylat **_**Space-Station, Katina Airspace**

Jewel Of The Lylat, _they call it, _Krystal's inner voice expressed with tinges of irony. The station was large enough in consumer stores and luxury hotels, that the mask of upper-class spread over the pitiable multitude of slums hiding in the realm of hypocrisy's dimly lit corners. The dictators of a prestigious floating castle in space could not forgo the offering of cheap labor from the less than fortunate. Krystal released a disgusted groan from her voice. _While we were fighting wars out there, the people unlucky enough to live in places like this were fighting their own battles. It probably makes no difference to them if the system is under Cornerian or Venomian leadership._ For a small fragment of time, just for a second, Krystal contemplated that the poor may have preferred food at the cost of warfare in the refuge of the Venomians, rather than be drip-fed from Corneria's upper crust of society. She canceled out her consideration, and subsequently her ingrained ethics raised moral flags of patriotic magnitude. _I'm not a Cornerian soldier, I don't want to squash anything that resists the symbol of 'good' in the universe, but nor am I a Venomian soldier._ Krystal gritted her teeth as she found herself with no choice of side in the battle of the giants. _One has considerably less evil than the other – but there's still evil_.

Her slender purple frame retracted into a squat from a standing position in a darkened alcove tucked away behind a red bulkhead. To adopt the illusion that Krystal was no better off than the rest of the slums' population, she wore a grubby hunter green jacket she discovered back at Star-Wolf's base, and typical dingy navy space-flight overalls beneath. The colors clashed horribly, but it was just the tool for breaking into the confines of the desperate low-life hordes that inhabited the shadowy alleys. Mugging unsuspecting innocents passing by had become a way of life for the population in the slums, and to one of these thieves Krystal would appear as a vulnerable target – defenseless, female and weak. Equipping a visible blaster may have been a precaution to scare some thugs away – yet attract others. There was no way of preparing herself to become immune to potential threats, so under the cloak of her begrimed jacket, was a hilt in possession of a retractable staff. The staff was her lifeline, after receiving it back from the Sauria Crisis; she'd never been without it since. As well as having the duty of keeping Krystal alive, the staff was all that remained of a life she'd led long ago.

The shady corner stunk of rotting processed food that may have been half-eaten by the locals, and judging by its stench, Krystal assumed that shortly following consumption it would have terminated an unlucky victim. At first it had been foul enough to stir nausea within her stomach, her throat seemed to shrink and her head would spin upon every minute sniff. However, the reek of the under-levels in the space-station had proved to be bearable upon lasting exposure, and now Krystal was coping well enough without a jacket sleeve serving as a filter over her muzzle. Her back was pressed against a bulkhead slopped with a coating of jelly-like grime and the sticky vomit-colored trails of subterranean slugs. Dripping from a ceiling shrouded in shadow was a liquid of some kind, and Krystal didn't want to spare much thought as to what it could be comprised of. She was unable to tell how far up the protruding side of the building beside her hung above her head as the area surrounding it was completely black, but estimating from the sharp pelting of the overhead drips, it may have been up to fifty meters tall. The wall she crouched next to was stamped with bold white lettering against the reddened background, stating 'LEVEL -6, F2 QUADRANT.' Krystal hands encompassed a small tracking device decorated with buttons and a screen, which she was using to locate the position of the target Star-Wolf had assigned to her. The tracker was adequate for an assignment such as Krystal's – where achieving the technique of invisibility was advantageous – because it was compact and resonated no technical bleeps or chirps to scan the surrounding area. The only noise that met with Krystal's ears was the nearby sewage pipes trickling with water somewhere out of sight, and the occasional deep bellowing of mechanized contraptions moving about in the space-station's auxiliary atmosphere-processing center. Every time there was a shift of a colossal metallic cog within the station's depths, it rumbled through every crack, fissure and pipeline of the under-levels and echoed in Krystal's eardrums. The source of the bellowing came from above, as the center was constructed in the middle of the station, between the upper and lower levels. The radiating power of the reactor core was indeed overwhelming forceful, the sheer light that the core produced was controlled by solar-panels and light-reflectors formed in a sphere around it. This created an amber glow, which blessed the under-levels through monstrous skylights, which were truly so behemothic, by most citizens of the Lylat System they had to be seen to be believed. However through the filtering of higher levels in the station, which weren't as poor as level six – intertwining catwalks, conduits, gas cylinders, living quarters and elevator shafts – the light dimmed, and a there was only a soft orange luminosity.

A labyrinth of building blocks, black in color and many of them with little to no viewports, clustered in the centre of each level of the slums. Krystal had discovered that losing orientation between these masses of solid rock material was probable without a map, or familiarity to the floor's layout. The fiery light of the reactor core seemed to hit most spots along the sides of these buildings, but was absent from corners between these structures and most of the alleyways. Who knows if a poor soul was being robbed of their possessions in the cover of the darkness? It was near impossible to see anything but the garbage cylinders some looked upon as all-you-can-eat buffets down the fringes of each narrow passageway.

The street – if one could call it that – was empty. The only signs of life were the conduit slugs that roamed over the grimy walls. Krystal found it somewhat disturbing, not only was the lack of life gloomy and unpromising, but if she couldn't see the locals of Level Six, did that mean they were awaiting her presence in a shadowed section nearby? It was a possibility that the Level Six inhabitants were tucked away in their neighboring towers, scavenging anything they could from abandoned rooms. Krystal had previously wandered through the buildings, and learned that the insides of the slums were just as bleak as the outsides. Smashed in viewports created a sea of shattered glass blanketing stairways, blaster fire had scorched most of the walling and gaping chasms in some of the rooms' ceilings stretched through hundreds of apartments high. Within the building, the locals seemed to mind their own business, only caring for their own needs and disregarding anything Krystal might have had to offer.

An effervescent speckle of crimson glow made its debut on the tracker, and Krystal's grip around the device tightened. Her muzzle twitched slightly as she came up from her crouch, and sidled against the red wall. The target was relatively close – Krystal couldn't pinpoint the exact position but the channel frequency left unchecked on the prey's communications unit was a dead giveaway, and would be his folly in remaining hidden from his predators. _That, and he has no idea I'm en route_. She removed a strand of midnight blue fur drooping over her field of vision, and tried to make no sound as she walked, following the tracker's directions. A layer of thin moisture residue seemed to coat the street path, and Krystal's boots created small ripples and miniature splashes with each step. Across the street came a muffled groan, and her eyes shifted to focus on a cloaked figure in the distance. They moved slowly – _some poor old soul trying to go about their own business_ – and Krystal discarded the possibility of a threat. She tilted her head downward as the individual's eyes stared her down, analyzing her for spare credits, food… _anything_. Even though Krystal was comfortable with her masquerade as an under-level commoner, she still had a face that could be easily recognized. With stretched fingers she brought her blue fringe back down to slip over her brow, and continued discretely as she could down the street. It wasn't long before her tracker informed her with a throb of crimson light that she had arrived at the structure where her target was in hiding.

The red battered door, wearing scars as if it had endured a life of harm it was proud of, was covered in dry remnants of blood splatters, deep wounds which had been chipped at over time, and the blackened scorching of laser blasts here and there. It was an old swing-door, seen only in the lowest of low far reaches of life, and creaked open loosely. What was revealed beyond was not a pretty sight. Krystal felt a sickening lump in her throat when the innards of the apartment building were exposed. To think that people actually lived in places such as the aforementioned was disheartening at best. Sneaking around in the shadows wouldn't be doing her any good – such actions would only raise suspicion for those that managed to catch a glimpse of her activity. Instead, she quietly made her way up a spiral stairway coated in a sheet of shattered glass, cringing each time her footsteps instigated the crunching of the fragments. As she made her way to the second floor, which wasn't much of a journey, the device clamped in her hand began pounding with its red glow faster than before, indicating she had grown close to her target. Being inside the building didn't seem to be able to protect inhabitants from the residue that clustered in spots on the ceiling, and as she departed onto the catwalk of the second floor, a particular patch on the wall adjacent to her seemed to have been riddled with so much water it looked as though a hand could enter through it and exit through the opposite side. As it caught her eye she realized that coincidentally, it was where her target was housed. The signal was strong – Krystal knew he was definitely close. With her fingertips, she tried giving the door an almost effortless press in hopes that the door's prehistoric bolt lock had broken over the test of time just like most of the others in the building – but was disappointed. To initiate her next series of actions, she decided upon a deep breath to help clear her mind of thoughts, providing her with the ability to concentrate on the moment at hand. A stiff set of blue fingers wrapped themselves around the cylinder sheath extending slightly above her jacket collar. She made a quick check to confirm that no locals were hanging about, and when she removed her trusty staff, the metal-on-metal shriek was prolonged as it was drawn unhurriedly. She allowed herself some room for wide vectors of the staff when she took a step backward, and arced the tip of the weapon to meet with the lock. Her shoulders rose and fell like washing waves upon shore in patterns that ceased to stray off rhythm, in the calm and collected moments before the storm. _Just go in there, and do your job_ – Krystal's mind ordered her physical form remorselessly, but a splinter of hesitance lengthened her wait. _It's not supposed to be an issue_ Krystal grimaced. She was shamed by her lack of haste to barge into the room and launch an assault, but holding her back was the vixen's nature that was impervious to abandonment. Enough was enough – she terminated all thoughts and feelings floating in the air. With a whisper under her breath, her guard obeyed, and a jolt of voltage jumped from the apex of the staff. It sizzled with a crackle through the rusted yet sturdy bolt lock, snapping it in two and sending its remnants to the floor. They resonated with a weighted thud on the patch of damp wooden floor. With a bop of her staff, the door swung open, revealing all that hid behind it. A darkened apartment block with just enough light seeping through the lines between the lowered sunshield to unveil shabby furnishings. There was a silhouetted figure standing against the orange light, relatively short, a little bit fat, and most alarmingly… facing her. It was only moments after Krystal had the chance to make a quick analysis of the room beyond her, when the familiar curves and casing of a laser barrel invited itself onto the back of her blue neck.

_Trapped_.

It had all happened very fast. Krystal was unaware of how her target had taken the steps to ensnare her, but it was now evident that he had the upper hand.

"You know that cold object at the back of your head?" the figure in the distance spoke. Krystal narrowed her eyes as she looked into the cracks of radiance emitting from the reactor somewhere in the middle of the space-station. His voice was whiney, grated and in the higher register. Those elements spliced together were instantly recognizable as the traits of a certain thorn in Star-Wolf's side.

_Pigma Dengar you swine!_

The hog had somehow escaped certain death more times than he would self-appoint himself as a nuisance in Star-Wolf's business – and that had occurred on a regular basis. Pigma Dengar was a lone greedy pirate that had an issue with being killed – he and death just didn't seem to agree with each other.

Krystal nodded and felt the blaster barrel sliding up and down upon the tiny hairs of her neck.

"Yes. It's a blaster. And I know the stench of whoever's standing behind me. He's clearly identifiable as an amphibian."

Pigma's stumpy outline waddled toward her a little.

"I'm not sure he'll be pleased to hear you refer to him like that, little foxie. He's very short-tempered."

"Well Pigma, he's made one mistake" Krystal said. She'd realized that thankfully Pigma's ego was an instrument in preventing what could have been a quick laser blast to the back of her brain. The lackluster space pirate preferred small-talk over initiating the third act of his plans; it was another feature that could be easily allocated to Pigma's personality time and time again. Pigma snorted between the gaps in his nostrils and the golden ring that was threaded through each of them.

"What's that?"

"He hasn't confiscated my weapon."

She whispered something in another language, and suddenly her staff's color transformed into a dazzling vermillion. With firm two-handed grasp, she stabbed the staff downward into the floor plating, creating clustering cracks, and a tremor of vicious velocity. Krystal somehow seemed to be protected from the maneuver, levitating in the air for a few split seconds whilst Pigma's cranium met with the back of one of the apartment's dingy sofas. He yelped, followed with a half-snort and thrashed about to regain his footing. He quivered his head in disbelief as his sense of balance fooled him as to believe he was on a ship afloat at sea. Krystal gave the clearly unconscious amphibian behind her half a look, before cautiously moving toward her target. The hog had pulled nifty tricks to escape his enemies in the past – she was careful not to let the same occur here. "Don't move a muscle, Pigma" Krystal said, but her words seemed more like an urge than a demand. As the hog attempted to writher onto his overzealous belly, flailing his arms about like wings, Krystal's deep sapphire eyes caught the sight of a potential card waiting to be played – atop Pigma's grimy yellow flight suit that appeared to be roughly half a century old, was a contrasting sleek piece of technology. _Jetpack_, Krystal realized. In being cautious, she'd let the opportunity pass by – the hog was already reaching for its activation ignition. The staff swooped down in a trajectory to flatten all the digits on Pigma's hand, however the hog was already in motion. He crashed through the viewport with a trail of eye-penetrating gas exhaust, bright enough to burn onto Krystal's retina had she been looking at it directly. The viewport screen shattered with a chaotic cry of fragments scattering across the floor plating of the apartment, and Pigma's jetpack fueled flight through the tall structures of the _Jewel_'s slums disappeared from vision. Krystal's eyelids enclosed her eyes to slits, and a feral animosity she had not felt before tingled in her arms and shoulders, but most of all, in her chest. Had she been with Star-Wolf too long? Her jaw was clenched tightly as she watched the fiery ball that was Pigma's cunning escape disappear from her vision.

_Not this time_.

She thrust her staff into the air, uttering the words of an ancient mythical language under her breath at the same time, causing one end of the staff to erupt with blue flame. As she positioned herself over the staff, it rocketed forward out the shattered viewport and took her with it.

Krystal was dragged through the air by her weapon like rag doll, and controlling the direction of the staff was difficult. She mustered all her strength to gain a decent grip on the shaft of the staff, enough to follow the general trajectory of Pigma. Buildings that had been crumpling apart for the last couple of years flew past her in an instant and soon she was immersed in the mechanical surroundings of the B6 recycling department. Navigating through the dark cracks and crevices of buzzing and roaring machinery, Krystal realized that Pigma was going to try and lose her in the less spacious parts of the space-station. A mechanical arm from somewhere out of the corner of her eye – everything was going by so fast – almost swept her from the staff and collected her head, but she was quick to gather the little strength she had left to send her to the other side of the staff, in spite of how much straining pain in her arms it caused her to endure. In a dark tunnel of dangerous metallic moving parts, she could see the exhaust of Pigma's jetpack leaving a smoky trail. As she tried to pull herself further up the staff, her right hand slipped and flung back in the force of her velocity. She had almost fallen from the staff entirely, into a rather inconveniently placed melting pit, but the fight in the grip of her left hand hadn't quite given up yet. She cringed into the distance to try and spot Pigma, and decided she'd need to try her luck with something of a miracle, before his bizarre antics killed her. Lining at the top point of her staff with the back of Pigma's jetpack, she spoke a phrase to release a glistening bolt of red flame which flickered at a tremendous speed toward the hog. The flaming projectile impacted bang on target, scorching a black hole in the yellow jetpack. Pigma spiraled out of control through a mechanical valley aligned with metal teeth, flailing his arms wildly in frustration and panic, doing his best to avoid the sharp fangs designed for trash compacting tearing holes in his sides. With a handful of near misses, one of the body-sized spikes snatched Pigma's jetpack, and left the hog free falling into a seemingly endless pit of assorted refuse.

Krystal's arms felt like they needed a week's long rejuvenation, but she was still able to use them to recover Pigma Dengar's pudgy, scruffy body from the mountain of scrap. The nausea-inducing smell that Krystal had a hard time putting up with didn't seem to bother Pigma as much – he was probably used to living in such habitats. As she released the hog from her grip, Pigma lost his footing and collapsed to the ground, covered in grime and the remains of several meals from the famous _Jewel Of The Lylat_ restaurant. He started to scrub away the coat of slime which covered his pinkish skin, as he looked up at the sapphire vixen standing before him, both grumbling and sighing in dismay. Her dreamy blue eyes weren't amused at his acrobatics through the B6 recycling department at all. Pigma sensed he was in for a hard time. He took a brief look at the pit he had just clambered out of with his enemy's help, which was on the face of it a blur and murky greens and muddy browns.

"You were dead Pigma. We _destroyed_ you. In the Meteo Asteroid Belt. I was there" Krystal stated, holding any personal remarks back. Pigma slapped his palms together diagonally in an attempt to rid them of sludge.

"After the Aparoid infestation was reversed," he replied in his usual salesman-like grouch, "the hold they had on my mind was released… and the rest… well, it's self-explanatory. I'm sure a young, pretty, smart thing such as yourself my dear little foxie can figure that one out, eh?"

"You were in a shell? Floating in space?"

"Let's not go into details, now! I'm not fond of those particular memories of my sterling career."

She cleared her throat and revolved her staff slowly, though threateningly, so the tip faced Pigma's neck. He backed away sloppily on all fours, still puffing a little from the prior chase.

"You know what I want" Krystal said, lowering her tone, meaning business.

"You want me dead" Pigma shot back, almost laughing about the issue. She frowned.

"I want the data-card. Star-Wolf wants you dead."

"Bah" Pigma moaned, defeated and weak. He reached inside his yellow well-rounded jumpsuit, into one of the inner pockets, unclipped the safety catch, and his hand emerged with a small green computer chip of some kind. It was battered a little on the corners but Krystal could tell that it would still read on a computer system. Pigma chucked it at her effortlessly, and she brought a hand from her hip down to catch it. She tucked away somewhere in her jacket. Hopefully she wouldn't be doing anymore sky-soaring on her staff to merit putting the data-card somewhere safer. She returned a glare to Pigma, not bringing the staff away from his soft-looking neck.

"Wolf wanted ya to kill me, didn't he?" Pigma grunted unsurprisingly. "Go on then."

"Someone like you doesn't deserve the luxury of life, Pigma" she announced. But she didn't strike – she couldn't.

_You don't deserve life… but I'm no deity to deal out life and death._

Pigma shrugged and nodded.

"Hah! And I _agree_ with you little foxie! I've lived long enough like this to realize where I'm going when I die. And I'm tired of having to resort to these petty measures of criminal… _child's play_ when I used to be the brains running the show!"

Krystal's expression softened up, her glare dropped and she found herself gazing at the ground, reminiscing about the old stories Fox used to tell her about James McCloud. Her arms were too weak to hold her staff pointed at Pigma any longer, and she dropped it on the ground. It chimed a high-pitch and also offered a loud clunk on the recycling depot metal floor. The vixen took a few breaths as the hostility in her blood lowered from boiling point, back to the placid Cerinian manner.

"You used to be one of the good guys, Pigma" she said disappointingly. He bobbed up his eyebrows once or twice, just to signify that times _did_ change. She took a few steps back from the hog and sighed.

"What?" Pigma chirped harassingly. "You're not going to finish the job?"

"You're a mess, Pigma. And I'd be leaving behind a body that wouldn't be worth cleaning up."

Krystal approached a door entitled with 'EXIT' that she spotted somewhere near another mass of trash in the recycling depot, but stopped after a few steps toward it. "And get of the station immediately. I may not kill you, but if any of Star-Wolf sees you, _they_ will."

Wolf O'Donnell swallowed the harsh fluid down and popped the fancy empty glowing drinking device on the bar. He shuffled in his seat and released a breath, and then turned to face Cass Rico. He stared her in the eye for a little while, maybe to shake her up a bit, and then decided to say something.

"I'm lucky all the criminals hang out here" Wolf remarked with a chuckle. He looked over his shoulder at the mass of people crowded around a stage, where some kind of performance was going on that neither of the two had any interest in. The bar was certainly loud, and Wolf had to speak clearly and vociferously for Cass to understand. Cass nodded in agreement, with a little bit of humor.

"So am I. So where's my cargo?" she asked.

"Where's my money?" Wolf shot back. She narrowed her eyes with a playful grin, and asked again,

"Where's my cargo?"

Wolf shrugged.

"Where's my money?"

"I can't give you traceable good old fashioned cash, obviously."

"And your cargo is in a _safe place_ for now" Wolf replied. Cass didn't like the sound of that, and she pulled up the brown jacket she was wearing further up over her shoulders.

"How do you want to do this then, O'Donnell?"

Wolf replied almost instantly.

"I want you to give me the data-card I'm assuming you were planning on paying me with, so I can download the details from it and get access to a legitimate account. Is that what you had in mind?"

Cass frowned, and was hesitant.

"You've done this a lot."

"Rough 'n' tough gangsters always work the same way" Wolf said smugly. Cass reached inside her jacket pocket, gave a quick glance around the bar to make sure nobody was paying attention, and slipped him a data-card. Wolf took it into his grasp and tucked away somewhere in his jumpsuit, and then gestured to the mechanized bartender to fetch him another drink. The robot with a singular yellow oblong for an eye obliged with a nod, and went on about his duties. Beams of flashing pink and cyan fluorescent light shone over the two mercenaries sitting at the bar as something mildly interesting on the stage occurred. Wolf couldn't tell, but whatever it was, it was consumed in a rainbow-colored haze.

"So where's my cargo?" Cass asked again. Wolf offered her a smile.

"It's in a safe place. Let me check out the legitimacy of these account details first, and then I'll contact you. Does that work for you?"

"Well I'm not left with a plethora of choices here, am I?"

"Um… no" Wolf agreed.

The hangar bay Star-Wolf had chosen to use on the _Jewel Of The Lylat_ was isolated from the main docking bays on the upper west quadrant of the space station. Instead, Wolf O'Donnell had selected a small hangar near the bottom levels of the slums which didn't seem like it had been attended to by service bots for at least a year – which was perfect for what Star-Wolf was looking for. Above Leon Powalski, who was occupied underneath one of the Wolfens, hanging from the rail connected to the ceiling, were two sets of pincer arms. Bits and pieces were missing from them – it looked as though a service-bot had set out to repair them only to get called away for another task. There were signs of electrical fires with scorches and burns dotted all over the rail. Obviously this hangar had given the maintenance team too much of a problem, and being in the slums, they had decided to abandon it completely.

The security around the slums in the _Jewel Of The Lylat_ was limited at best, so Star-Wolf had no problem checking in unnoticed. The whole station was virtually a haven for criminals and outlaws. All Leon had done to secure the area was make sure the Wolfens' weapons were online and ready to fire upon targets as long as they were marked if necessary. The chameleon's beady eyes fixated on the entry door to the hangar as he heard the alert beacon. The door jerked open – it had stopped moving halfway through its cycle and Wolf must have jarred it the rest of the way. What a trash can this hangar was.

Leon noticed that as he entered, Wolf looked calm. He understood that there must have been an overabundance of thoughts and stresses trying to piece together like a jigsaw in his mind, yet the captain was playing it safe and keeping his cool… taking one step at a time. After drinking at the bar many levels up, Wolf had removed his flight gloves. He reached into his flight jacket perched across a heating unit to retrieve them. As the charcoal hands felt their way inside the gloves, Wolf spoke up to get Leon's attention.

"Did you check out those remote explosives like I asked you to?" Wolf announced. He made his way toward Panther's Wolfen, in which Leon was working on. The slim figure of the lizard seemed to slither forth out from under the fighter and stand up, all in a single motion.

"Yes" Leon replied.

"And?"

"They're not remote explosives."

Wolf nodded.

"As I thought" the captain said. Wolf turned his attention to the transparent oxygen bubble offering a view of half the Lylat, and he fixed his eyes on a couple of colored orbs rotating on a huge vector around the system's sun. From this distance it could do a lot of damage pointing the eyes directly at the sun, even from the safety of the space-station's oxygen shield he could feel the unmerciful heat of it. Leon's eyes widened.

"You _suspected_ that the pirates had tricked us?"

Wolf shrugged.

"I don't hold it against them. Something as absurd as 'remote explosive devices' is just a formality. I know where the _real_ insurance is."

"He has something on you?"

"No" Wolf replied, offering Leon a hint of surprise. "Something _for_ me, in fact."

"What did he offer, this Arctirus?"

"He told me he can help me find something personal that belongs to me, _if_ we do this job for him."

"Will he keep his word?" Leon inquired, ever so distrustful. Wolf nodded with relative confidence.

"Did you see what condition that ship was in?"

Leon frowned in frustration moving his arms about a little.

"I don't understand- the Luperium are supposed to be wealthy."

"They are. But you see Leon, there's more than meet the eye. You can tell a lot about them by the condition of that ship. Their ability to survive on _nothing_ is what gives them their strength. Arctirus maybe sitting on a pot of gold but you wouldn't know it."

"You're saying that… he's budgeting?"

"You can never have enough money" Wolf confirmed. "When he's ready to retire from this line of business, he'll be a wealthy and safe man."

"Though the ship was old, it did have a state of the art cloaking device" Leon noted.

"Of course, Arctirus seems like a person who will invest the money into what counts… Not simple luxuries. And the look the cheap lifestyle is enough to fool the authorities, I'm assuming" Wolf explained. He placed one of his gloved hands against Panther's Wolfen and leaned against it, grinning with a bit of admiration for the space pirates who had 'blackmailed' Star-Wolf. "The Luperium is relatively low key, but for those who know it, it can conjure up a lot of fear. So already, you think… big guns… fine drinks… a life of envy. But Arctirus is smarter than your usual thug. You see already, we know a lot more about this little gang of pirates than most others. He must trust us to some extent."

A blue vixen tossed a green hunter's jacket aside just after she had retrieved the data-card from one of the pockets. She made her way through the hangar door and unhappily approached the two Star-Wolf pilots clinging to Panther's ship. As she moved closer, with a flick of the wrist she sent the data-card flying through the air toward Wolf. The captain caught it and eyed up a quick analysis of the damage done. Not much – it would still work.

"Speaking of trust" Wolf muttered to Leon as Krystal came closer. "You don't look so hot" he mentioned to the new entrant. She ignored his words and gestured toward the data-card sitting in his palm.

"These trade points we use have been sabotaged. Run of the mill thieves, apparently."

"That's not a problem" Wolf acknowledged. He tucked the card away in his flight suit. "However there _is_ a problem."

Krystal tilted her head sideways, and all of a sudden seemed alerted. She hadn't noticed the sounds of any footsteps behind her, but when Panther Caruso cleared his throat she jumped and swung around.

"What's going on?"

"Why don't you tell me, Krystal?" Wolf asked loudly, bringing the vixen's attention back to him. Her mouth half open and startled, Krystal switched glances between the two pilots on either side of her. Wolf shrugged – annoyed, and looked over to Panther.

"Did you finish the hog, Panther?"

"He's taking his chances in a melting pit. I imagine he'd go fine with a superb casserole at about this moment" Panther replied. Wolf nodded appreciatively. He brought his hands together and a clap echoed harshly throughout the hangar. The three other Star-Wolf members gave him their attention, although Krystal was still taken aback.

"Leon, Panther. I want you two to carry out basic security measures, and make sure this hangar is locked down tight before we take off. Pigma has other goons wandering around the place" he ordered. The two snapped to it like it was instinct, with Leon heading for the hangar's main control panel and Panther heading for the door. Krystal kept her distance from Wolf, but took up an offensive verbal assault.

"You had him follow me?" she barked, her hands snapping to her hips. Wolf spared her his bad eye, and carried on to his Wolfen.

"I knew you couldn't do it" Wolf replied abruptly. Sitting on top of his Wolfen's port wing was a small refrigerating unit. He popped the lid open with a click and a display rack ascended out of the boxy device housing some Fortuna fruit and a Cornerian power-bar of some kind. Krystal figured at that point Star-Wolf must have been painfully low on funds for Wolf to be eating from his survival kit. Or maybe Wolf had just spent all his money upstairs at the bar. Without thought, Wolf snatched the bar, then closed the kit and pressed a button on the port fin itself which opened up a compartment to house the refrigerating unit. It disappeared and became another part of the Wolfen before Krystal's eyes.

"So you had one of your boys follow me. And Panther too… _nice_" Krystal nodded, disappointed in her leader but also ashamed within. Munching on the snack which quickly became nothing but crumbs on the dirty hangar floor, Wolf finally turned to her and looked her in the eye.

"Krystal, let me put it to you. You're a good girl. Maybe _too_ good. Maybe you had a bad run with your ex-boyfriend and you felt like being a bad girl for a while… but it just doesn't work forever, huh?"

Krystal crossed her arms, ready to take Wolf's criticism but taking every opportunity to find something to fight back with. The captain continued as he prepped the exterior of his fighter. "You can't kill someone in cold blood. That, to me, is a flaw. If my team was relying on you to pull us out of situation, which _depended_ on your ability to take a life… I wouldn't be so sure we'd get out cleanly."

"Is that it?" Krystal chipped away. Wolf scowled as he pressed down a button to lower the boarding ladder from the cockpit.

"No, Krystal. It isn't" he said. He took a few seconds to scale up the ladder and into the cockpit. He sat down inside and glanced at her over the side while configuring some pre-flight settings on the main console. "You don't fit in. Your moral code is too high for the likes of scum like us. I'm clever, Krystal, but at the end of the day I realize I'm just a _clever thief_. You're an idealist. And I have a lot of respect for you."

He stopped fiddling about with his controls for a minute and sighed. "But you're added baggage."

"I carry my own!" Krystal retorted. Wolf raised his brow.

"You do, which is good. But nobody's keeping you here, and you don't belong. Heck, sometimes you might even get in the way. It's only a matter of time before you move on… _foxie_, let's not pretend this little adventure of yours is anything else."

Wolf stayed stiff for a few moments, watching her closely, reading her reactions, before going back to the ship's controls. He gave the ignition a kick and listened to the hum of the Wolfen boot up. Krystal, arms crossed, standing sternly, had nothing to say to the captain. She wanted to protest, she wanted to argue for the sake of arguing – but nothing would substitute for the black rock somewhere in her chest that Wolf had invoked. She angrily kicked one of the landing legs of Wolf's fighter – hurting her foot in the process and subsequently hopping around on one foot for a bit – and then moved to intercept Panther's path as he headed back to the _Black Rose_.

"Let's not talk about it here" Panther declared in a finalizing manner as he spotted her coming his way.

"You _killed_ him?" Krystal squealed in disbelief. "Panther how could you… he's a worthless hog."

"He had become quite the problem" Panther said, still not interested in conversation. Just like Wolf had done, Panther began running some exterior checks on his ship.

"I'm disgusted. Disgusted in you!" Krystal groused.

"It's who I am, Krystal" Panther replied. Warm violet hands suddenly caressed the curves around her backbone, and he brought her in close. She was quick to fight the embrace.

"Hugging me now and telling me everything's going to be fine doesn't suffice here" she warned grimly. "How long have we been together now?"

Panther bit his lower lip. "Or can you not recall? Am I just a simple amusement for you, Panther? Just another woman to help you pass the time?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions" Panther said wearily.

"_Murderer_. You're a _murderer_" Krystal hissed. Panther snarled and banged a fist against the _Black Rose_'s fuselage.

"And how many young cadets have you blown away in the skies, huh? How many families have you destroyed just by doing what you thought was right?"

"This is absurd! There's a clear distinction between defending a cause and selectively taking a life for monetary gain!"

Panther stopped, released a breath, and ascended the ladder into the cockpit. Navigating through the controls, he tried to think of something to say to Krystal, something to ease the tension. He twitched his nose and took a glimpse at her strong and unrelenting appearance – something coincidentally he realized turned him on – but offered nothing but a head shake and a shrug.

"I'm _sorry_ Krys. Really…" he assured quietly. He felt a touch of relief as she dropped her stance and returned to her ship.

So far it was an ordinary take-off procedure, but something inside was bothering Wolf O'Donnell. It wasn't the harsh disposition in which Krystal had felt toward him, but something was sitting right. He voiced for assurance through the private com channel.

"Leon, you definitely checked the control panel, right? Nobody has tampered with it?" Wolf asked. There was some kind of insulted noise from Leon across the frequency before he replied.

"Of course not, Wolf. We're down here all alone."

"Right" Wolf said. "And Panther, everything in the area was sealed? And no signs of tampering with any of our equipment?"

"Nothing of the kind, Captain" Panther came back.

As the three Wolfens and Krystal's _Cloud Runner_ accelerated in formation toward the oxygen bubble of the hangar, a violent tremor sent Wolf flying toward his dash. Eye piercing white light filled the hangar, accompanied by the familiar booming roar of an explosion. The furious shades of red engulfed the four ships and chewed up everything it came in contact with. In the midst of the chaos, Wolf's working eye caught the sight of a passing ship outside the hangar. At first he didn't recognize it as anything significant, but as he put together some basic pieces of the puzzle, he could distinguish the ship as belonging to…

_Pigma you slime ball!_


	13. Double Cross

Panther Caruso – Plan B Space-Station, Sargasso Space Zone

**Panther Caruso – **_**Plan B **_**Space-Station, Sargasso Space Zone**

The words _Am I in trouble?_ circulated through Panther Caruso's brain repeatedly on the voyage back to _Plan B_, Star-Wolf's makeshift space-station home in an ice-field.

He now stood alone in his quarters staring wide-eyed into space through a hexagonal viewport – the only one in the room. The quarters, which had become Panther's home for the last six months or so, were the smallest the pilot had ever inhabited. It irritated him so, yet the real reason behind his annoyance was a lament to the times of old. The lifestyle of a freelance mercenary – usually the kind that carried out work on the wrong side of Cornerian law – had always attracted Panther. To him, it was a game he could not lose…

… _until recently_, he thought.

The famous Panther Caruso was the criminal everybody in the Lylat loved, and he game of life he seldom lost. Living on sumptuous over-zealous space-cruisers and dining at the finest restaurants in space without having to worry about checking over his shoulder for any presence of scrutiny… those days were over from the moment Star-Wolf's career had began to fall apart. It was a form of poetic justice and Panther didn't dare rise up to fight it, he accepted the downs as well as the ups when it was their turn to come around. But the twist of bad luck had been lingering abnormally long lately.

Now he imagined, for not taking the time out of his day to watch Pigma Dengar suffer a grizzly death, Wolf would be on his case, as well as Krystal, for deciding to take on the job in the first place.

Panther collapsed onto his bunk. It was made of a jelly-like substance, colored navy. There were no covers on the bed of any kind because the station's heating system was adequately temperate. It was one of the more refined technological aspects of the station, standing out amongst the poor craftsmanship everywhere else onboard. Wolf's funds limited him – after selling off the old station to a pack of thugs – as living costs were becoming more expensive with absence of any wars. Not only did the cost of resources inflate, but one-shot operations that paid decently were scarce. With conflict waging across the Lylat System, there was always an overabundance of work – with two or more sides to choose from.

There was no knock on Panther's door before it swooshed open with the Star-Wolf captain standing on the other side. Wolf looked like he was dedicating as mass of self-control to circumvent throttling Panther with his bare hands.

_I'm in trouble_, Panther noted to himself as his suspicions were confirmed.

"You said you finished him" Wolf grunted threateningly, baring his teeth. Panther stroked one of his whiskers, musing over the way in which to handle his disgruntled captain. He gave the fur around his mouth a quick lick, took a sigh, and emerged upward from the bed. He'd hope his height advantage over Wolf would affect the outcome of the situation in his favor somehow – but he couldn't have been more wrong.

"The little hog was squirming away in a melting pit, Wolf. You tell _me_ how that didn't kill him" Panther responded. Wolf's singular olive eye widened.

"There's a theory with Pigma I've never got around to testing, because you boneheads can never seem to finish the job."

"And that is?"

"Unless you see him die, he's _not_ dead!" Wolf bellowed. The shadowy colored canine stomped his Venomian boots around a bit, wondering for how much longer he could contain his frustration and rage. Panther wisely took a step backward toward the viewport.

"Now, now, Wolf. I'm sure he's going to leave us alone from here on out."

"Leave us _alone?_ The scumbag tried to blow us all to space dust!" Wolf continued to bawl. He took a quick breath and then resumed with his assault. "I send _two_ of _Star-Wolf_ to go and do the job, and both of them prove as useless as the brains in a simian!"

"You have my apologies, Wolf" Panther said calmly, but with a slight tremor of vulnerability filling his words. "More than that, I cannot offer."

"Obviously _not_" Wolf concurred. "The team is falling apart" he admitted with disgust.

"The cycle of luck has taken a small toll on us, Wolf. You can't blame the team for that."

"This isn't tied to luck at all. The three of you have sloppy" he growled back. He took a step toward Panther and leaned in close. A gray finger began digging a hole into Panther's chest as Wolf eyed him fiercely. "Well not anymore. There's no room for error here on out. Got it, Panther?"

Panther nodded. Wolf seemed to have calmed himself, Panther noticed, or maybe the captain was just in the eye of the storm. Containing the fury in his veins, Wolf released a primitive grimace at Panther, and held it, before distinguishing his hostility and leaving the pilot's quarters before it returned.

Sighing with relief Panther felt the tension inside begin to unknot itself, only to be pulled tight again by Krystal's stomping footsteps drawing near. Not in the frame of mind to be dealing with displeased girlfriends, he zapped toward the slide-door to try and punch in the locking-code on the control panel, but failed to do so in time. When Panther looked up at Krystal fuming with an untamed rage, his spine tingled with a chill. She began the firing session with a few insults to soften the edges.

"Nothing but a cold, gluttonous, self-absorbed, superficial fleabag!" Krystal griped, inviting herself into the small room. She leaped up on top of a work desk and leaned against the hexagonal window.

"Come in" Panther mumbled harmlessly, giving the back of his scalp a light scratch.

"I suppose you thought casting poor Pigma into that melting pit was your idea of _fun?_" Krystal grumbled. Panther's eyes strained as he searched for a diplomatic answer. He dropped onto his bunk and rested his head into the glucose-like encirclement his mass created. He stared at the ceiling as he spoke.

"I had an order to take down an enemy from my captain. What difference does it make whether you end someone's life in space or on the ground?"

Krystal's silence was enough to allow Panther room for more. "And since when did it become _poor_ Pigma?"

Krystal's frown was so intense it sucked all the beauty out of her face. She focused at an imaginary spot on the floor, desecrating it with her eyes.

"He's just a no-good thug looking to make his own…"

"Oh don't _defend_ the stinking creature. Listen to yourself, you're talking about someone who tried to blow us all away" Panther said with a certain distaste toward her feelings. "What kind of universe do you think we _live in_, Krystal?"

"I just wish…" she started. Panther's yellow round eyes enlarged at the vibes of self-acknowledged contradiction he started to feel from her. He ceased the opportunity and brought himself upright, reaching over to lay a hand on Krystal's shoulder.

"It's a dirty life, being one of us" Panther admitted. "But you walked into it… with all your preconceptions of morals and… what's _right_."

Krystal's frown resigned but her nose wrinkled at the taste of the bitterness in Panther's consolation. His hand took a dive from her shoulder, slipped down the path of her arm and landed in the warmth of her left hand. The feline's violet furred fingers wrapped the vixen's delicate digits, a mother embracing a cub in comparison. Krystal's fingers didn't squeeze back – her wrist remained taught and her palm stayed open. Panther chuckled lightly.

"But that's not the Krystal I know. It takes more than a few words to win you over."

"I've been living in a lie for a long time now, haven't I Panther?"

"What are you talking about?" Panther said concerned. He frowned and brought himself in closer to her.

"_This_" she said, gesturing around the room. "Star-Wolf, everything… I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at myself for winding up in this world. In _your _world."

Panther was now alerted.

"What are you saying, Krystal?"

She looked at him. Her expression was nothing Panther had ever seen before. It was void of emotion; a cold stare into nothing. She shook her head gradually from side to side, dropping her gaze from him and down the floor again, hopelessly searching for any explanation or meaning. It was all in vain.

"I don't know."

A reoccurring warning beep sounded through the cockpit until Panther reached up to the side of the HUD to flick it off. He had been flying lazily and incautiously for the last hour, still thinking back to his muddled and confused interaction with Krystal back at _Plan B_. Up until now, Panther had been positive that Krystal was only something of a leisure activity. He didn't love her, he never had – in fact his interest in Krystal weakened when she became a part of Star-Wolf. The mystery of the stories that shrouded her reputation was what sparked the initial attraction, but upon becoming a fellow pilot, Panther had come to learn that he would never obtain the satisfaction he was looking for in romance. The rose painted on his ship was only a lament to the death of the affection he used to hold deep inside. Upon becoming everything Panther had ever idolized as a cub, all his dreams had lost their meaning completely. Nothing tasted as good as he'd expected to once it was within his grasp. Panther had concluded that the ideas, ambitions and the journey toward an accomplishment were more powerful and satisfying than achieving the goal itself. Because others he had known throughout his lifespan could thrive of quite the contrary, Panther identified his eternal dissatisfaction as exclusive to his character, and quite possibly yet another form of poetic justice. A punishment for the life he had taken up as a pilot who would put morals aside for money.

Now that Krystal was showing signs of doubt, Panther was hit by another revelation. With his trademark attitude of living life while it was there, he hadn't realized how much Krystal had made him realize his own faults. Although he didn't love her, her underlying good nature had set off a spark underneath Panther's carefree surface.

_She's simultaneously the best and worst thing that's ever happened to me_, Panther gulped. And now that her doubts had set in motion a path that would most likely lead her away from Panther, he was beginning to feel more cold and lonely than he could ever remember.

Deep wounds that had been freshly cut were the reason Panther had been paying little attention to the safety of his flying. Even when the brooding lonesome freighter appeared in space before him, Panther hadn't prepared himself for what to expect. He guided the _Black Rose_ into a docking bay his eyes could barely make out amongst the dark frame of the _Lone Star_.

"You thought about our proposal?" Rufus Haze said with a menacing grin. He brought the flaming stick of spice – the same stomach-churning aroma as before – into his mouth and took in a lungful of smoke. Panther's bright white vest with his own rose insignia depicted on the right breast shone in the dim yellow lights of the _Lone Star_'s bay. Panther, the taller and stockier of the two felines, stroked one of his whiskers as he watched Rufus's movements closely.

"You have a deal, Mister Haze. When do I begin?"

"Now" Rufus confirmed. His response was so timely and expectant that Panther guessed Rufus had somehow already foreseen the answer. The two stood along in the bay, and Panther scanned the pile of stripped space-fighters resembling ghost ships opposite the _Black Rose_. "Follow me" Rufus said, after staring down Panther for a little while as if larger schemes were plotting in the pirate's head. To Panther, it didn't matter – if there was an escape route from this life to begin on a clean slate, this was it.


	14. Heirloom

**Peppy Hare – Lavender-Ring, Corneria**

General (_For how much longer, I wonder, _he thought) Peppy Hare stood over a tactical readout in his office. The image displayed on the screen underneath his resting palms was of Cornerian airspace, and all the minute details of what was occurring at present. The image was displayed in a grid map format, with color-coded dots representing a different variety of ships. Orange clusters (signifying illegally unidentified space-crafts) were subject to an encirclement of red (Cornerian Defense Force), and that told Peppy that most of the imposters in Cornerian airspace were contained. He looked up through the thin golden glasses sitting on his snout, and gave an appreciative nod to a Cornerian sergeant positioned on the other side of the large display-top.

"Thank you sergeant. The CDF is to be commended for the job their doing rounding up all those trouble-makers without the supervision of Admiral Endico" Peppy said. The sergeant, a tall and skinny male canine, returned the nod.

"Yes, General sir. Why do you suppose there are so many unidentified crafts in Cornerian airspace, sir?"

"I am not at liberty to say, Sergeant" Peppy replied. He slid his pair of glasses into a more comfortable spot. The sergeant understood the limitations of his need-to-know basis and rested his eyes back on the display, plunked in the middle of the office just before the entryway. Peppy's symmetrical set of buck teeth snuck out from behind the curtaining of his top lip, and the hare then beaconed the sergeant's attention with a gesture. "I want to know _everything,_ Sergeant – even the slightest of changes. If there's anything happening that's even _remotely_ suspicious, then I want to be aware of it. Clear?"

"Yes sir" the sergeant responded systematically.

"Thank you Sergeant, you are dismissed" Peppy said. The black and white canine saluted the general, and then left the room. Peppy waited for the sensory-activated doors to close with an air-tight squeak, and then sighed. He dropped his hands down to his side and wandered over to the rear of the office, and stood between two majestic, colossal auburn pillars supported the ceiling. Each of the foundations donned decorative flags near their tops, the blue and white patriotic symbol of the Cornerian Government on one, and the red Cornerian Military logo on the other. The two flags were almost identical aside from their coloration, however Peppy found the placement of them together ironic.

_Since when have the government ever thought along the same lines as the military_, he cynically grumbled to himself. Glorious red drapes hung from the tops of each pillar, complimenting the overzealously massive viewport that absorbed every degree of the daytime sun. Peppy's eyes looked out through the viewport, and although the old hare hated nothing more than doing _nothing_ he couldn't stamp out the growing anxiety assuming control of his concentration. For every minute that passed, Peppy convinced himself a little bit more that he was going to lose his job. He had put his career at stake for Dash Bowman before, but this time the appearance of Star-Fox had caught the commander-in-chief's eye. He laughed to himself when he considered the example it created of the inability of the government and the military to work in unison.

And then, another example of that same hypocrisy exploded into Peppy Hare's office. Pandora Marco was armed with a squad of Cornerian troops and she made no efforts in hiding her dismay toward Peppy Hare. As she came before the display-top separating her from Peppy, she took a quick glance at it, and then dramatically slapped her hands upon it. The resulting noise caused Peppy to wonder whether her theatrics had caused her any pain or not. Pandora's brown eyes widened into ThornTail eggs as she stared maliciously at Peppy. Peppy's grey hands wrapped around each other in a non-threatening gesture as a dreary washed-out bitterness manifested upon his face.

"Good morning Commander-In-Chief" Peppy said civilly.

The brilliant black and white fur over Pandora's face seemed to be standing on end, and her accompaniment of Cornerian soldiers looked about ready to open fire.

"You had _no _right to authorize that kind of operation, and now we've lost all communications with the _Silver Tiger_" the bear hissed. Her knuckles protruded from under rippling fur as her fingers twisted. She stuck her head forward and tilted it sideways. "I hope you feel like you've accomplished a good day's work, General Hare" she said with sarcasm of an epic magnitude. Peppy was wise enough not to say a word that could potentially incriminate him even more so, but he feared his cunning wouldn't last long. Pandora looked at group of turquoise-uniformed Cornerians and pointed at Peppy. "Arrest him."

Although a mixed bag of Pandora's personal guard unit seized Peppy in a bombardment, the general did his best to stay calm. His wrists were fastened together with pulse-binders and one of the soldiers led him toward Pandora via a hand on Peppy's shoulder. Peppy soon realized that staying calm wasn't his problem; it was trying to suppress the urge to mouth off to the commander-in-chief what was sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"So did you think this one through, Commander? Or is it another one of your trademark reprisals?"

Even the guards stopped in their tracks and exchanged looks among one another uncomfortably. It was evident Pandora couldn't believe her ears and she almost mouthed to Peppy to repeat himself. She menacingly barraged her way through the bunched guards and stuck her uncharitable nose in Peppy's face.

"How bald of you, General Hare, to make such comments after what you've ensured today" she began distastefully. "Are you aware that the _Silver Tiger_ was Corneria's warhorse… our _one _glimmer of hope of defending against Venomian attacks? Did you consider this before you sent a young group of Cornerians to their deaths?"

"With all due respect Commander, you made the call to divert the _Silver Tiger_'s course. Not me. And I believe that's the kind of order that is under _my_ jurisdiction" Peppy shot back. His ears were rigidly sticking in the air like a sore tail. "And I'm simply _warning_ you Commander, of the impending controversy you threaten to ignite amongst the Cornerian people. You'll only bring a war upon us _sooner_, Pandora."

"That's irrelevant now, Peppy."

"Is it? Won't you give a chance to allow your own _people_ to prove to you they're not as foolhardy as you may think?"

"Hah!" Pandora cackled monstrously. An amused look swallowed her face. "Could you possibly be suggesting I let this operation on Venom to continue?"

"You can't stop it. Dash Bowman is already on the ground. Letting the planet know now will only segregate the people, and… _who knows_ what kind of chaos it might cause out there in the Lylat. But if you play your cards right, you might be able to _reward_ Corneria for having faith in its government… for the first time in a long while."

Pandora Marco began to stroke the collar of her sky blue, golden lined uniform. The supremacy of her command dwelled within her, as Peppy could see, but she decided against exercising her authority over him without reasonable justification. For a moment, giving in to Peppy's ideals had made her feel powerless, but her temptations were suppressed as it was the temporary sacrifice that she needed to make to stop all hell breaking loose upon Corneria. Unsure and wearily, her eyes wandered over to the brown feline in charge of the unit. She gave him a bitter nod, and he went to release the binds around Peppy's wrists. There was a clicking deactivation from the pulse-binders and the squad leader stepped away from Peppy's side. Pandora's expression as she looked at Peppy told the hare his immediate superior felt gutted like a fish. She breathed out her disenchantments in a sigh and flicked a disciplining finger at the general.

"You've been around a long time, Peppy. You've earned the people's trust and you're the hero they _love_ to love. And because of this, if I don't have your… oh-so-sanctimonious backing, I appear as the villain. Don't forget who's _really_ in charge here" she said. Her warning was dashed with sour taste left in her mouth.

"Of course, Commander" Peppy replied. She headed for the doors, and over her shoulder dished out orders to the squad leader.

"I want General Hare under constant surveillance. Plaster this office with holographic recorders. And for Lylat's sake find out where that blasted Star-Fox team is, and follow their every move. If one of them goes to the restroom, I want to know about it. Are we clear, squad commander?"

"Yes mam!" the feline responded promptly. Peppy had figured the commander-in-chief proclaimed her instructions in front of him to substitute for the lack of control in her decisions beforehand. She also wanted him to understand crystal clearly, that he wouldn't be able to do so much as to request a hot drink without Pandora knowing about it.

The bar was previously called _The Traveler's Vale_, but the only path Fox could see the bar leading to, was either an inept state of grandeur after consuming too much of the joint's dangerously mind-altering drinks, or outside – after the bouncer had thrown you out. The owners of the establishment had obviously come to this conclusion as well; the evidence being the renaming of the bar to _The Drunken Skunk. _The hour was approaching midday in Corneria City; alas the bar was empty aside from Falco Lombardi, Fox McCloud and a few retired war veterans who engaged in the gambling activities the bar provided on a daily basis. It was unofficially the assembly point for Fox and his comrades when 'official assembly points were no longer an option'. Therefore, Fox was not seated in unfamiliar territory, and the bar owner would tend to turn a blind eye to the blaster tucked under his flight jacket whenever he entered. A crimson carpet bearing the wounds of stains of all kinds didn't keep any stories to itself – it was a rough place. The black stage covering almost half the bar's space was vacant, and usually only gained a performance on certain nights of the week. Fox sipped on an old-fashioned cup full of a berry-mix shipped from a lonely corner somewhere on Fortuna, while Falco was minding the door from a position further toward the stage. The two would never sit together in a public place such as this hospitable little tavern – one of them always had to be watching the door. Falco was chewing something within his chomping beak like usual, and the sunglasses perched on the crest of his feathery cerulean head bobbed up and down rhythmically. One of his hands rested on the butt of a blaster ready for duty in his black rawhide jacket pocket, the other around his drink.

When two not-so-inconspicuous amateurs casually headed through _The Drunken Skunk_'s entryway, they noticed Falco and appeared quite surprised – though they tried to hide it. The first was a brown feline, very stern-looking, also very skinny; the second was a cleanly-shaven sheep. They wandered through the bar with their hands in their pockets – _I wonder why their hands are in their pockets for_, Falco chuckled to himself – and formed a crescent in their route. Eventually, they came back to the front doors – the feline even gave a polite nod to Falco – and then strolled outside. When Falco saw Fox frowning with a puzzled face, the avian replied with a loose shrug. However soon afterward, there were loud voices coming from outside. Amongst them was one Falco recognized indefinitely. He straightened up in his seat a bit.

"Check him for the piece, corporal" came the easily identifiable feline's voice. _Undercover Cornerians… must be government_ Falco decided. "Remember… don't bother making anything difficult. It'll be worse for you" the same voice warned.

"I _do_ need some privacy, Sergeant."

Finally, Peppy Hare came hurrying through into the bar. He didn't even spot Falco to his left-hand side as he entered, and headed straight for Fox.

"Tide's in" Peppy said as he clambered atop one of the barstools. It seemed like a mission in itself for the aging general.

"How far in?" Fox asked.

"On the rocks" he replied, jerking his head toward the entrance. Fox put down his drink slowly, and motioned an open palm out to Falco, telling him not to move.

"Did you bring uh…" Fox drifted off, flicking his fingers together obviously. Peppy nodded.

"It's in… a _safe_ place."

"Right" Fox acknowledged. Peppy had deposited Star-Fox's earnings for the prior mission into a secondary account – one Fox had registered under a certain _James_ McCloud… who was in fact dead, yet the banks didn't seem to mind.

"The extra that your friend requested…"

"Peppy – you didn't" Fox interjected, flaring his eyes wildly at Falco. The avian innocently mouthed 'what' and shrugged his shoulders. Peppy held his hand out reassuringly, cutting Fox off.

"I don't want you to think anything of it… but… Oh, here" Peppy nervously stuttered. From inside his the jacket of his civilian apparel, he produced a data-card, and jiggled it in front of Fox's nose until the vulpine received it. Fox was confused but seeing as how Peppy probably had some kind of third-party listening device planted on him somewhere, neither of them were going to begin asking questions.

"Thank you, Peppy" Fox said gratefully, clutching his old friend's shoulder. "This will be more than enough."

Peppy took in a breath and opened his mouth, revealing his two front teeth. He wanted to say something to Fox, but the words simply didn't come out. Fox was acquainted with the look on Peppy's face – the general was probably going to say something admirable about Fox in relation to his father. But the expression said it all, and Fox understandingly nodded his head. Peppy hopped down from the barstool which was over half his height, and his ears perked up in the air on a more serious note.

"The uh… The rain's going to go where you go now, Fox."

The vulpine laughed – he'd already figured out that the Cornerians would want him under close observation.

"When I woke up this morning, I thought it was much too fine of a day."

Fox and his wingman walked briskly in the shadow of a metropolitan skyway in a crude industrial sector of Corneria City. The two mercenaries sported illegally-overpowered blasters and an arsenal of technical gadgets that if found by Cornerian authorities, could cause them unwanted trouble. When Peppy had passed Fox the data-card in _The Drunken Skunk_, immediately the vulpine had ruled out the possibility of allowing the shadowing Cornerians to come for the ride. With com devices wrapped around their wrists, the two Star-Fox members had set up an elaborate scheme with the assistance of ROB-64 in the circling _Great Fox_ in the skies above. Fox was amused by the worried manner in which the following undercover Cornerian government agents would check above their heads every now and then. Obviously the agents were panicky about the mercenaries pulling one of their famous deceptive ploys, especially with the presence of the _Great Fox_ circling the area above them in amongst other cargo and freight vessels. Being both boxy and chunky in appearance with the addition of seeming relatively harmless, the _Great Fox_ mingled with the cargo-ships like it _was_ one, and was well camouflaged in amongst the crowd. Although Fox's mother-ship had the eye of the Cornerian agents, it evaded the attention of most civilians, with only one or two people recognizing it here and there.

Falco and Fox had wandered into a market district, where blue-collar workers tended to gather to trade goods and find bargains. Kiosks were scattered through the street, with beings of all shapes and sizes seeking their riches. A webbing of cables and wires that hung over the street, linking power system between neighboring factory complexes, blotted out the sun and soon became an obstacle for Star-Fox's nervous followers.

The two pilots slowly spread apart, with half the undercover team shadowing in their footsteps splitting in half to follow both of them. Falco veered off to the left side of the wide street, entwining with as many paths from other citizens as he could, until eventually he vanished through the slim entrance into an abandoned factory.

Fox carried out the same process, and in civilian clothes became a challenge to spot from a fair distance. Fox had his hands tucked firmly in his pockets, so any ruffians on a rampage charged by adrenaline or overconfidence, wouldn't give him any trouble – provided they didn't have a death wish. He shouldered past a mob of bovines that advertised their poor hygiene habits with their collected stink, and took a hard right behind a hovering transportation unit. The Cornerian-colored hovercraft was packed full of many people of different species and Fox guessed it was a tourist transport. It provided a fitting obscuration from the trailing Cornerian amateurs, and soon Fox was in the safety of a vastly populated docking bay. An immigration office which was barely visible due to the mass of bodies surrounding it was located within a few meters of the entrance to the docking bay, which would work nicely. The bay had overhead shelter, however a large portion of ceiling had been removed; the empty space was used for the landing and launching of air-capable vehicles. The walls were painted white with the trademark Cornerian navy stripe encompassing the entirety of the bay's innards, but almost everywhere, there were posters advertising criminal activity and beckoning for places to live. Fox made his way through a busy cue, and noticed that a few faces were double-taking at his appearance. Being famous came with a price.

"Fox McCloud!" a voice announced from the line. It was some slimy little lizard.

_Oh no_, Fox gulped. From everywhere in the area, faces turned to catch a brief glimpse of the famous space-fighter pilot.

The snaring feline with a frown invading territory as far down as his eyelids held a communications transmitter up to his mouth and bared his teeth. With a fast pace, he made his way through the bovines and tried to spot Fox McCloud.

"Stay on Lombardi's tail!" the sergeant barked, waving a hand in the opposite direction. A couple of men moved to his left and began snaking through the mass of bodies toward the factory Falco had disappeared into.

"Sergeant! We've lost McCloud!" a nervous voice came.

"Nonsense! He's bound to be in that docking bay somewhere!"

The infuriated sergeant whom refused to be fooled by trickery engaged in an intense, militaristic march into the diverse sea of manifold species. The shadow of the docking bay killed the sun shining through the overhead entanglement of cables and stopped the burning tingle on the back of his neck. His blue Cornerian cap demanded pacification from the overly-talkative city-dwellers trying to befriend immigration officers. A loyal government agent keeping by his commander's side looked toward the sergeant for orders when it was apparent that the naked eye had no advantages searching for Fox McCloud through the swarms of people. "He knows what he's doing" the sergeant mumbled unhappily under his breath.

"Sir?" called the corporal. Distressed russet eyes wandered over to the corporal's direction as the sergeant pondered his next move. Something needed to be done, _fast_. A gathering of peering eyes fixated on the two uniformed agents standing close to the immigration office, enveloping the Cornerians in a circle. Both concerned and curious, not one of the bystanders tried to attract too much attention, so they made attempts at appearing like they were occupied by someone else's interest. The sergeant glared and studied each one of their faces closely, alerted that by this time Fox may have easily donned a cunning disguise. Alas, the only people standing around were uneasy foreigners.

"Has anyone seen Fox McCloud?" the sergeant announced firmly. Faces conspicuously traded troubled expressions with one another, and this caught the sergeant's eye. The disdainful presence of the feline sergeant made its way into the space of a jittering female amphibian. The bystander's shining lime-colored scales rippled as the sergeant moved in close. The feline tilted his head down to the amphibian, and condescendingly inquired, "Do you know where he is?"

By now, the scene had attracted the attention of most of the crowd surrounding the immigration office, even the Cornerian guards sitting inside the protection of the force-fielded walls were peering over their work desks. The amphibian swallowed hard, appearing to be considering very carefully how she was about to answer the question. Naturally, the sergeant's instincts had told him to go after someone afraid and powerless, so the trembling amphibian had been unquestionably an adequate first choice. She began darting her eyes about, looking for the aid of others, but none answered for her.

"I'll ask you again" the feline sergeant repeated. The corporal started roaming through the crowd, utilizing the imitation skills that his uniform provided, eyeing every separate body within vision. When the amphibian wouldn't answer the sergeant's question, another voice sounded across the rigid silence.

"What do you want Fox McCloud for anyway?" a cocky young hare asked. The feline turned his head, and approached him. "He's uh… probably off shooting bad guys, y'know? Probably too busy to be hanging around on Corneria…"

A few laughs resonated from the group of immigrants at the rabbit's comment.

"Fox McCloud went back out to the main strip" another voice called out.

"No he didn't! He swung by our local tavern for a quick drink!"

"No, no! I heard Fox McCloud say he was on his way to Venom for lunch and reparations!"

As the laughter amongst the crowd grew more debasing and gained decibels, the corporal and sergeant swapped defeated and puzzled looks.

"We don't have time for this!" the sergeant roared.

"Sergeant, outside!" the corporal cried. The two agents dashed through the crowd, pushing and shoving bodies aside to clear a path, in spite of the numerous people obscuring their route. The sergeant arrived at the edge of the docking bay, and although they were no longer surrounded by trouble-causing immigrants, it seemed that they were already too late. Two recognizable aircrafts soared through the sky above, though not high in altitude. One was indefinitely a variant of the traditional Star-Fox Arwing, though the other was more customized. The sergeant recognized it as the _Sky Claw_, Falco Lombardi's ship.

"Blast it, sir! They slipped right out of our grasp! How did the other team lose Lombardi?" the corporal hissed, clearly aggravated.

"It doesn't matter, it's not over yet" the sergeant murmured. He reached down for his com transmitter, uncoupled it from its holster and lifted it up to his mouth. "Team two, status report?"

"We shouldn't be far from him, Commander."

"You're too late!" the feline roared. "They're already in airborne! Get your behinds outside, now!"

"But sir!" an agent objected over the com device, "Lombardi hasn't…"

"_Now!_" the sergeant bellowed. He slipped the device back into place and turned to the corporal.

"Sir?"

"Order team three into position, and track the ships' coordinates. We're _not_ going to lose them, understood?"

"Sir!"

The sergeant then looked up at the sky, watching the two ships merge with the significantly larger _Great Fox_.

Falco Lombardi leaned up against an old unlit sign for repair services in a worn-out hangar. Deterioration had gotten the better of the unused repair hangar's exterior; the type of low-profile unattractive meeting place Falco had always been fond of. Broken machinery and ship parts were literally everywhere, covering the corroded floor plating that would have been spotless once upon a time. There were even a few mischief makers floating about collecting parts for their own illegal bedroom projects, but they were of no concern to Falco. With this amount of junk decorating the hangar, there would be plenty to go round. Falco had even started eyeing up some of the parts lying across the hangar, examining them, though the majority of it seemed to be burned out or too dented to be put to good use. A figure wearing a scraggy jacket that looked like it had seen first-class gutter treatment walked briskly from an opposite entrance of the hangar. Whoever it was, his head was down and his hands were tucked securely in his jacket side pockets. Falco rested one hand on the butt of his right-hand blaster pistol, just in case…

Fox McCloud showed his face and the two slackened off with their stiff postures. They shared a mischievous chuckle as they watched Fox's Arwing II and the _Sky Claw_ travel on auto-pilot into the openings of the _Great Fox_. The two ships vanished out of sight, though quickly pursued by elite Cornerian fighters. The orange and white colored crafts formed on either side of the _Great Fox_ in an intimidating maneuver, demanding the mother-ship to come to a halt.

"I hope the Cornerian agents won't be too offended. It's nothing personal" Fox said.

"I just hope ROB goes easy on 'em for interrupting his afternoon cruise" Falco added. The two laughed in the wake of deceiving the Cornerian authorities once again.

"It'll be just like old times, Foxie" Falco Lombardi remarked with a giddy excitement. No words could describe Fox McCloud's astonishment at what his eyes were seeing. The two Star-Fox pilots wandered in awe through a spacious control room, running their hands across various inactive computer systems and flight equipment. The floor was constructed of reinforced military plating straight from the Cornerian R&D department, and the sound it produced when Fox took a step was music to the vulpine's ears.

"I… I don't believe it" he said. Fox took a moment to place is hand over his heart, and used the other to rest against the golden-aligned black captain's chair. A 'V' shaped viewport made-up the majority of the forward exterior, and on the outside of the bridge Fox could see a dissected mass of underground rocks. Falco brushed his deep blue quilted digits across the ceiling's metal frame, meandering directionless through a section of carpeted royal red floor on the upper control deck. He shook his head in overwhelming amazement, and let out a sigh.

"It's been almost completely replicated" Falco said.

"Yes" Fox replied. Feeling weak in his knees, the vulpine dropped into the familiar comfort of the captain's chair, and lightly caressed the arms of it.

"With more than a few improvements" Falco added, examining the almost sumptuous finish to the bridge. Fox gazed ahead at the primary engine controls, not focusing his eyes on anything particular but attending to the thoughts in his head.

_Peppy, you've done it this time_. A small object flickered on the console before him, but it was not a computer indication. As the minute silver item caught the light of Falco's shining belt buckle as the avian strolled by, Fox tilted his head and set his eyes on it. Recognizing it, the captain reached for it out for it and grasped it from atop a blank interface. Fox's fingers hooked through a thin chain linked through the object. _It can't be!_ Fox almost cried aloud.

Within his open hand was a silver token carved in the shape of the _Star-Fox_ insignia – a fox's head, with two outstretched wings. Fox recalled the last time he'd seen the image was sometime before the Anglar War. Old values diminished and friends long gone, the brethren that comprised the team were now separated, scattered across the Lylat.

_But that's no reason to forget about all we've fought for_. He clasped the memoir tightly in his grip, and sealed his eyes closed. _Times have been rough Peppy, but we're both still here… so that's _one _reason to keep fighting._ He revolved the keepsake through his fingers, but stopped when a small engrave called for his attention. In black, on the flipside of the etching, were the initials 'J.M.'

"No way" Fox muttered to himself. _I had always thought the original had been lost in my father's death…_

The token was the very first ever made, when the original Star-Fox team had been formed. Handcrafted by James McCloud himself, it had somehow found its way through the endless abyss of space back into the hands of the martyr pilot's predecessor, Fox McCloud. How this moment had come to be Fox would refuse to know – never would he worry to ask Peppy. The hardships of obtaining the item Fox knew Peppy would rather leave untold, and all that mattered was the existence of the symbol itself, and whose hands it was in.

Draped over another interface before Fox was a bright wooly red scarf, which the vulpine also assumed belonged to his father, and wasn't a reincarnation of his own he'd lost months ago in a vicious firefight. He stroked the fabric gently, absorbing the texture of the material. An influx of memories burst to life in full color – the scarf felt like the ones his mother would knit him in his youth.

With one hand, Fox slipped the chain and emblem around his neck. Afterward he proceeded to wrap the scarf around his neck, folding and knotting it just like the fresh memories of his mother doing so. _Now_, he'd realized, _it doesn't matter how alone I thought I was._ A relaxing warmth soothed the frigid sharp edges in his veins, and Fox released a smile from within. _I'm not alone_.

"_We're_ not alone" Fox said. Falco, with a peachy grin on his face came to Fox's side.

"What's that around your neck?"

"Just a little something from Peppy."

"Hey! That's our cool badge thing!" Falco exclaimed.

"Yes it is" Fox nodded. "Yes it is…"

"Where'd you get..."

Fox cleared his throat to cut his friend off and stood promptly from the captain's chair. He looked to the main viewport, with a subdued but confident grin. Falco felt the impression of Fox's inner revelations were inspiring, though for no specific reason.

"What are we going to name the ship, Falco?"

"Well," Falco responded almost immediately, as if he had been holding his breath for the question to be asked, "I was thinking the _Falconator_ or something like that, but…"

Fox spluttered an unprepared laugh.

"What?" Falco wimped with a strike to his ego.

"The _Great Fox II_ it is."

"Yeah… okay. That was my next choice anyway."


	15. Eye Of The Storm

_**Author's Note: **_To those of you who are reading (if that is in fact anybody at all), there has been an addition to the end of chapter fourteen which will be an important part of character development and the general plot further on down the line. I suggest, if you have been following this story so far, that you give it a read either before this chapter or afterward. Thanks!

* * *

**Krystal – **_**Plan B **_**Space-Station, Sargasso Space Zone**

A lone figure sat frozen stiff in the small unlit briefing room aboard _Plan B_.

Shining dots strewn across a black canopy, the stars didn't lie. When Krystal looked into them, she had found they reflected the surpassed truths within her heart. For this reason she could not stare at them for a prolonged amount of time, instead she turned her head and focused her eyes into the full cup of golden Titanian bitters. The liquid sat serenely still, as did Krystal, preferring not to taste the drink she had poured herself. The vixen had a black gown draped over her shoulders; although it was relatively warm in the center of the space-station, close to the main reactor. In spite of this, she still felt cold on the inside, though wrapping up her exterior did nothing to help.

She made an effort at blocking out the thoughts of both Panther's and Wolf's words from her mind, but it was in vain. Only now had she felt the full wrath of the irony between herself and Panther – it seemed both of them needed someone else to confide in yet their own relationship wasn't remotely strong enough to allow it. The person who was supposed to matter most didn't care enough to step out of the confines of his own problems to say a word of honesty. Even if Panther had been truthful with her, that would have made it a first. He'd left _Plan B_ three hours ago, and Krystal had begun wondering whether he'd return anytime soon. This time, the feline hadn't bothered to mend his lies with more lies, instead he'd let his house of cards collapse without concern. Still, Krystal was angrier with herself than with anyone else. Ever since the Anglar War, she had allowed life's events to dictate the results of her life as a substitute for striving to make the right decisions. She was a hero once upon a time, now she was a bitter war veteran.

Self-realization was a commendable opponent, but it was also the first step toward atoning for her lost time spent in petty crime. She bared her teeth and grudgingly coupled the cup of Titanian bitters before her.

_If it works as Wolf's friend to battle his conscience, maybe it can help me at least withstand it_.

She tried to swallow away her thoughts as the liquor ran down her throat. But even after there was nothing more to consume, the lump in her throat still hadn't subsided. She hammered the cup on the tabletop creating a harsh clonk and urgently stood, making her way for the door. As she turned she jumped in fright at the sight of a largely-built body standing still with arms crossed.

Wolf O'Donnell raised his eyebrows puzzlingly at Krystal's sudden commotion, and the vixen sourly endured her embarrassment. Wolf reached for another cup of Titanian bitters sitting on a bench top adjacent to the doorway and silently offered it to Krystal with an empathetic expression. This made her feel more at ease, and she apprehensively took it from his hand and brought it up to her mouth. She kept her eyes on him as she downed the drink. Wolf seemed to be his usual majestic but unruffled self, as Krystal – albeit in a state of disarray – retained her standoffish demeanor. He seemed to be holding back a humored grin and leaned loosely against the bench.

"A curious thing, that drink" Wolf said, trying to relate. "The thought of it makes you feel better when in fact… it does nothing at all."

Krystal again slammed the cup down on the tabletop, though not as loud as previously. Wolf's words didn't have any effect on her and she still looked at him hopelessly. He did away with the small talk and moved straight to the point. "So was it Panther, or me?"

"Both" she admitted promptly.

"And now, you're starting to think what I said was true" Wolf resumed after a brief pause. "So what will it be, Krystal?"

"What will _what_ be, Wolf?"

"Are you going to continue thinking this is your home, or are you going to come to your senses and carry on with the journey you started."

"And what journey is that?" Krystal asked dourly.

"For…" Wolf drifted off. He passed her and moved to the other side of the room to observe the stars. "For whatever you were searching for in the first place."

"What was I searching for?"

Wolf irritatingly frowned and faced her.

"Didn't they have bedtime stories where you come from? You know what that is" Wolf pressed. Krystal sighed and took a seat, as if she were becoming too weak to stand. She then nodded at Wolf's comment. "Everyone has to make it themselves, Krystal."

"Did you ever find what you were looking for, Wolf?" Krystal asked. Wolf uttered a cynical snort of laughter, and headed for the doorway. He slapped the wall panel with an open palm so the metal plate hissed open and housed itself in an overhead compartment. Wolf stopped in between the jambs.

"I'm still lookin' for it... But I'm getting close."

The blaster barrel was lodged into the fur of an aging canine's neck. By his accent and his features, Panther Caruso could identify the grey-colored pilot as Cornerian… not that it mattered.

"Nobody's going to get hurt here today, as you'll be happy to hear gentlemen" Panther announced to the three freighter pilots standing on the ship's bridge. From his well-trained peripheral, the Star-Wolf member spotted a younger canine of the crew reach for a buckshot laser-cannon tucked deceptively well between a computer console and a bulkhead. This annoyed Panther, and he used his spare hand to draw another blaster pistol from his utility belt. All in one motion, he flicked the blaster out, gripped it firmly in his hand, took a brief but _fairly _accurate aim and pulled the trigger. The red streak impacted on the young canine's hand and threw it into the main viewport. The blast had melted a good portion of the pilot's hand, and smoldering blood rained across a navigational computer. The canine howled and dropped to the floor, clutching his disfigured hand. "Except for maybe that guy" Panther chirpily added, turning back to the captain of the ship.

The group of pilots were the crew of a ship only named by the factory-design number that worked for a commercial Lylat freight company. Three run of the mill cocky Cornerian canines who thought they knew what a _real_ pirate raid was. Defending against common thugs countless times meant nothing in the presence of a member of Star-Wolf. _Now_ they were in trouble. All alone, Panther had infiltrated the isolated ship on its way to Katina.

The bridge itself was spacious and basic in layout, giving Panther plenty of room to work. The entire area was lit by lime green 'in-transit' lights and this was to Panther's advantage as there were no darkened alcoves to look out for. No security beacons had been activated, as Panther had severed the communications energy link before springing his trap on the bridge. The backup links, Panther was optimistically assuming, were still a few minutes off from forming a new connection. Panther playfully tapped the barrel of his blaster pistol against the captain's chest as tucked his secondary weapon back in place.

"Now" Panther said. "What is this ship transporting?"

After seeing Panther's lack of mercy as demonstrated on the injured crewmember, the older, more experienced pilot was quick to respond.

"Quartica."

The canine's voice was tattered and weak.

"Mmm, Quartica!" Panther repeated excitedly, waving his pistol about. "Do you know what's going to happen to this Quartica?"

"You're going to steal it, I assume" the canine replied bitterly. "There goes our bonus…"

"Not necessarily. This commodity is worth a considerable amount of money but your delivery pay only scores you something around…"

"Fifteen percent" the canine said filling in Panther's blank. The feline offered a sympathetic nod in return.

"Fifteen percent? Well that's no good now, is it?"

"The company robs us" the canine agreed, starting to feel his discomfort flaking away.

"Twenty, that's what I'm going to give you" Panther said.

"What's the catch?" the captain was quick to ask.

"If you tell anyone I was here, I'll hunt you down and kill all of you. Or I'll get somebody else to do it if I'm having a bad day. How does that sound, pup?"

Panther's voice left the same cheerful impression his supplementary dance offered. The captain watched the feline, both concerned and puzzled, and irresolutely agreed with a nod.

"It's yours… we'll uh… even couple the crates to your ship for you" the captain said. As Panther jibed the crew with bopping dancing motions, the downed crewmember clutched his wound and sat up against a bulkhead.

"Fantastic customer service!" Panther exclaimed happily. He lodged his remaining pistol in the holster on his left side, and then approached the young pilot with the hand problem. Panther leaned down to the canine and snooped his eyes around the injury, examining the way in which the surrounding fur and skin had been charred. "Ouch."

The younger canine spitefully glared back at the mercenary, but was the pain was too overwhelming to voice his opinion. Panther defiantly eyed the third crewmember – probably the first-mate. "Get this boy some medical attention for pity's sake!" Panther yelled. At the feline's command he scuttled off to grab the nearest batch of medical supplies. Panther then turned his attention back to the captain, walked toward him, and handed him a small green and silver data-card.

"Take this, when I do the calculations I'll send through the money. Are we clear?"

"You expect me just to take a thief's word for it?" the captain irately shot back, seemingly more distressed about the reward that the younger canine's injury. Panther presented the captain with a larger-than-life smile and patted his left blaster holster.

"Perhaps you'd consider an alternative, captain?"

There was no reply. "I expect not. I'm not a thief, I'm a _businessman!_"

Leon Powalski's stretchy green skeletal digits fluttered over a control interface. It had only been minutes since he had seated himself at _Plan B_'s main networking console but already the lizard was hacking his way through Cornerian security firewalls. The interface was placed before him, installed into the bulkhead housing countless electrical systems that all linked to the station's central computer. Leon's bulbous eyes closed with a clamshell forest-green exterior, and when they sprung open again they were coated with a new protective coat of sticky resin. The eyeball-shielding substance would take some time to dissipate before it needed regeneration. This would occur periodically, with the time in between spent staring intensely at the visual interface ahead. The touch-screen itself was very basic in layout; it was all Star-Wolf could afford. This didn't prevent Leon's ability at bypassing distant security systems by any means; the chameleon was methodically effective with his technical abilities. He meticulously calculated his actions on a computer system in the same manner in which he executed people. As the neon blue lines of coding upon the black screen expanded into paragraphs, the characters' shapes reflected on Leon's scaly face. And then, in the midst of his crusade with no prior warning, Leon's fingers froze still.

"Most disappointing" came a serpent-like hiss. Not taking his eyes of the screen, Leon reached for a wired-up communications transmitter. He clicked a red trigger attached to the object with his thumb.

"Captain, I think you'd better get up here" he said.

The access plate in the doorway disappeared off to the right-hand side, and Wolf O'Donnell appeared with arms crossed sternly.

"Is there a problem?" he grunted. Leon rotated his exoskeletal neck an unnaturally long way to catch a glimpse of Wolf over his shoulder. The Star-Wolf captain came forth into a beam of light from a nearby monitor, with his Venomian boots clanking on the floor plating. Wolf noticed a charred smell in the systems complex, like a Wolfen-fighter's core expelling hordes of electrical energy over a prolonged amount of time. Leon had obviously been pushing some of the computer systems as hard as the relentless chameleon worked.

"Nothing" Leon said.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. Not a Cornerian cent" Leon confirmed. Wolf stood motionlessly for a few moments, rounding up his uncontained rage and placing it in a mental quarantine, before turning and heading back through the door. Leon watched his captain's actions curiously for a few moments, until the access plate closed and there was nothing to see. The lizard turned back to the interface, initiating a shut-down of the complex's networking system so no nosey security A.I. systems browsing through the Cornerian network could trace the hacker's print.

Wolf O'Donnell slapped an open palm at the control panel, opening the door to the briefing room. He stepped inside to spot Krystal still in her same position, with an empty cup before her. Wolf didn't want to estimate how many refills of his Titanian bitters she had helped herself to. In the shadows of the room, Wolf deactivated a control panel that terminated a plum-colored projector shield around a refrigeration cylinder mounted on the wall. He reached inside for a frozen block of the quickly declining supply of Titanian bitters then ignited the low-temperature bubble on the small unit that safeguarded food and drink alike. As he flicked a wrist in front of a hidden shelving unit above the bench top, two rows of drinking utensils folded down before him. He snatched the first one within reach and placed it clumsily down, dropping the pre-mixed dry cube inside. Utilization of the defreeze laser located across the other side of the room seemed too much of a chore in Wolf's frustrated state, and instead he flicked out his blaster pistol. Before aiming it at the inside of the cup, he reduced the carbine power to the lowest setting possible. He fired off a shot angrily at the cube sitting inside the cup. Instantly the cube expanded into a brown bubble, then leveled out in the form of a liquid. The circumference of the cup was smoking a little, but regardless Wolf eagerly guzzled the Titanian bitters down. Before it was gone, he whacked the panel on the refrigeration cylinder again to lower the shield.

Krystal watched him peculiarly though not particularly surprised, and before the captain darted to grab another premixed cube he spotted the vixen's blank expression. He stopped moving for a moment, and the two exchanged blank, thoughtless looks. Wolf almost felt the need to ask Krystal if she'd rather him carry out his catharsis somewhere else. Krystal broke the silence first, however.

"We didn't get paid, did we?"

"Nope" Wolf replied, going for another cube.

"Are you going to kill anyone?" Krystal asked with an inquisitive interest through her voice.

"I haven't thought about that part yet."

"Well," Krystal started, "I think you're a hypocrite." He confusedly looked at her cerulean eyes, slightly annoyed. She saw his urgent need for elaboration in his expression. "You told us we were falling apart. Aren't _you_ supposed to be the one who keeps everything together?"

Wolf cynically screwed his nose at her comment. He took a seat beside her once he'd prepared another drink and faced the opposite wall. His eyes found a comfortable spot somewhere on it, where he remained to stare for the duration of his answer.

"First of all, nor you _or _Panther dealt with Pigma properly. Secondly, I'm stuck in some wonderful agreement with one of the most dangerous crime-lords alive. And _now_…" Wolf grumbled. He swilled in some more of his drink. "_Now_ that double-crossing feathery… delinquent hasn't held up her end."

"Poetic justice?"

"Life and I never seemed to get along well" Wolf admitted.

"How long is it before you take off after her?" Krystal asked.

"Rico? Not long… I'm thinking a couple of more of _these_" Wolf said, jiggling his cup around. Krystal nodded expectantly, and remained quiet for a small while. Wolf then emerged from his seat and headed for the bench again. He scrambled through the refrigeration cylinder for the last cube of bitters.

"I'm coming with you" Krystal said, looking over in his direction. Wolf stopped and sighed in his defeated condition.

"No."

"I'm coming with you, Wolf. Or you'll finish up the middle of a bloodbath. And with the way current events have been going, I'd say it would be a wise move."

Wolf didn't stop to think. He pointed a finger at her gravely.

"No mistakes."

"Not this time" Krystal confirmed with a brief nod of the head. She stood up. "But what's the cargo?"

"Don't even think about it" Wolf said warningly. Krystal decided to let it go just as spontaneously as she'd asked. When Wolf eyed her with an advisory raised brow and ensured she'd press on the issue no further, he turned to his cup and unleashed another laser blast. This time the crimson bolt veered left of the cube, scorched straight through the base of the cup, ricocheted all corners of the room, and the last savoring thought of Titanian bitters splattered all over the bench top.

Wolf had Leon take up the act of repairing an overloaded power conduit running to the hangar's main systems' control box, when in fact the deadly wingman had been situated to provide 'perspective' on issues necessarily – that was, with an automatic rifle. Wolf, feeling at ease with his partner on the lookout, leaned against an unopened supply crate packed with engine components. He watched the _Black Rose_ glide into the hangar faster than it should have, and from this Wolf could already distinguish that Panther was in a careless mess. The ship landed in its usual spot, with the padded landing legs extending from the underside hull like skeleton limbs. There was a soft recoil of the craft as the vertical thrusters expired and the pressure on the hangar floor disappeared. The dying lime glow of the sublight thrusters finally vanished, and the drone of the _Black Rose_ faded out. The boarding ladder stretched downward until it was only inches from the floor, and subsequently the hatch popped up with a hiss of pressurized air. When Panther climbed down the ladder, his footing was awkward and Wolf also noticed that one of his blaster pistols had been poorly secured.

"Why the stupor, Panther?" Wolf called out across the hangar. Panther growled with a feral animosity as he hurriedly walked toward Wolf. His approach seemed somewhat hostile.

"You!" Panther yelled. "The nav-data. Do you think I was too _stupid_ to catch it?"

"Obviously you weren't smart enough to catch it in _time_, Panther" Wolf retorted. "I had Leon track your coordinates; I've been concerned about your lack of sensibility ever since we left _Lone Star_."

Panther didn't stop his antagonistic parade until his nose was in Wolf's solemn face. The feline displayed a fierce show of sharp fangs, staring into Wolf's only functional eye. He held the malevolent guise long enough to let his anger fume, but in only mere seconds the feline withdrew. The slender figure of Panther Caruso seen in wanted posters around the Lylat would have put his disillusioned and embittered state to shame. His tense arms slackened, and he dropped them down by his sides.

"And now…" Panther started unsurely, "I…"

He took a few dragging footsteps to the nearest crate to Wolf's, and sat on with a defeated sullenness.

Panther tried to conceal his surge of indignity with a curved hand over his brow. "We had a deal… Haze and I. I got what he wanted… but…"

"Tell me what happened" Wolf stipulated.

"I delivered the cargo he wanted back to the _Lone Star_. Now he's assumed command of my services as he wills" Panther said. Wolf grunted.

"You've fixed yourself up nicely this time, Panther" he muttered. Wolf pushed himself forward from the crate and begun a slow, steady stroll around his wingman.

"We have to take out that ship, Wolf. We have to destroy it. It's the only way" Panther urged. Wolf raised his eyebrows and his singular olive green eye widened curiously.

"Only for _what_, Panther?"

"I can break this deal, and you get out of this… _Arctirus's_ clutches."

"I'm in _no-one_'s clutches" Wolf shot back. He jabbed an index finger into Panther's breastbone, hard enough to create a few wrinkles on his white vest. "I'm interested in what this man has to offer me… and I'm not letting a sour deal between you and his subordinate mess up what I had planned. Star-Wolf stays."

"But Wolf, regardless of what interests you may have with the Luperium, Star-Wolf is still going to get tangled up with this smuggling Haze is having me do!"

When Wolf shrugged at the feline's comment, the captain left a carefree impression. Panther's jaw dropped slightly, and his fangs dipped out from the sides of his mouth.

"Not if you go about your business somewhere else."

"What?"

"You're _out_, Panther. That's it. Dream over" Wolf declared. Immediately upon saying the words, Wolf crossed the hangar toward his Wolfen. Startled, Panther helplessly watched the mercenary leader drop the conversation and walk away. After watching Wolf ascend his boarding ladder and strap himself in the cockpit, the full realization of the captain's wishes hit him like a shot of cheap Venomian liquor.

"Wolf!" Panther cried. There were no returned words, and soon the engines of the _Red Fang_ fired up with an anxious roar to quash any disagreements. Krystal seemed to appear from thin air as she passed by the feline in her lilac jumpsuit, and boorishly ignored him on her way to the _Cloud Runner_. Panther shook his head furiously and growled deeply enough to send a quiver through every bone in his body. Krystal paid him no attention and was soon in the restrictions of the blue spacecraft's trapezoid cockpit.

"Krystal!" Panther yelped sheepishly before she had a chance to lower the hatch.

"Don't look at me, Panther. You got yourself into this!" she shouted over the rumbling engines that resonated through every inch of the hangar. "You get yourself out!"

She thumped a button to bring down the cockpit hatch, and it sealed itself shut with an airtight squeak. As the ships slowly levitated and the landing gear retracted into their underside hulks, Panther dropped his hands to his side uselessly and glanced over at Leon, who was keeping a close eye on him. With a thunderous bellow, both the _Cloud Runner_ and the _Red Fang _launched through the oxygen field and into the vacuum of the Sargasso Space Zone. Panther was left with the fuming hot scent of the fired up sublight thrusters and feebly wailed at the disappearing ships.

"My last favor to you" Leon said as he emerged from his darkened corner. "You're ship is in optimal condition. I imagine it hasn't been anywhere close for the last… well, let's just say… it's time you moved on."

Leon was making a brisk approach toward the hangar entrance as he spoke, staring blankly ahead without an ounce of emotion. The lizard extended a boney exoskeletal digit over a sensor, and the slide-door opened with a mechanical shrill.

"He can't do this. The three of you can't operate without me. You think you can trust _her?_" Panther snickered.

"Tough luck. We can't afford to place any sentimental value on colleagues for this reason. Don't think you're _special_, Panther" Leon shrugged with a snigger before leaving the hangar.

Panther's violet colored hands turned to bone-crushing fists as the lizard departed and left him alone in the hangar. The menacing ethics of the cold executive officer couldn't have been truer, but they slashed at Panther's ego all the same. If Leon had been in the same situation, Wolf would have just as quickly dispelled with the chameleon just as he'd done with Panther.

"Alright" Panther nodded somberly.

_I'll go, but don't expect me to come running back when you need me the most, Wolf_.


	16. Mastermind

**Wolf O'Donnell – Sector X Airspace**

_Deflectors reinforced at the front, cannons are charged and ready to fire. I'm not taking any chances with this one_.

Wolf kept his ship motionless in the vacuum of space, with Krystal's ship, the _Cloud Runner_ hanging approximately half a klick behind. Her ship, under Wolf's instructions, was situated just a few degrees out to the _Red Fang_'s port fin, so extra firepower could be provided if necessary. Another hiccup may have involved Cass bringing a wingman, though from what Wolf had seen of her pilots' performance at Venom, and if there was any backup for intimidation purposes – Wolf wouldn't be the one intimidated. His working eye peered down to the dashboard displays for yet another systems check; making use of his time to eliminate outlier possibilities as much as possible was essential. Though his ship was up for a fight, Wolf had doubts about the limits of his fatigue. Sleep had been avoiding his list of things to do for the last forty-eight hours, with only small pockets of it to suffice. The circumstances were too attention demanding to entice Wolf into shutting his eyes, though his reactions were beginning to slow and he felt as if hordes of energy had been siphoned from his body. What little remained was sparking in his brain.

The dashboard interface system remained silent and only the gentle idling hum of the _Red Fang_ was audible. The screens projected a placid blue glow across Wolf's face and in particular shined on his notorious black eye-patch. It also created the faintest tint upon the transparent forward viewport, coating the space-station in the distance. The cooling blues of the display units took up residence on certain spots of Wolf's forward vision after being a pilot as long as he had. Cockpit interfaces usually caused a distraction for newcomers – Wolf even had memories of this – however after mere weeks of flying they soon became second nature. Currently however, they only served as reminder of Wolf's dropping body temperature due to his exhaustion, and to be cold in a spacecraft cockpit was truly rare. Fingering a smaller interface in the right corner of the dash, he changed the angle of the vents next to the ship's engine so a minute portion of heat was filtered and transferred through the ventilation system via the back of the cockpit. He hoped it would help. He also hoped that for his sake, Krystal was in a more collected condition than himself.

What started as a speck against the far away space-station progressively morphed into a red and white jagged shape. Had Wolf been more able to divide his attention, he would have taken a more intricate inspection of Cass Rico's ship. He made only simple observations as the craft approached – that bizarrely, it seemed comprised of two makes, Cornerian and Venomian. The starboard side of the ship had the fine, smooth edges of a standard Cornerian fighter, painted white and nothing else. The port – a bloody crimson assortment of the spikes and war-promoting shapes of a Venomian dogfighter. How the ship was able to fly (in atmosphere or in space) was beyond Wolf, but it looked as though Rico had done a first-rate job of the fusion between the two breeds. As it coasted through space closer toward the two Star-Wolf ships, more features of it became apparent but in essence all that mattered to Wolf was that he knew he could transform her ship into a crumbling ball of fire if need be. Though not the same caliber of thief as those in the Luperium, Cass Rico could hold her own and knew good and well the standard procedures of being such. Usually, Wolf noticed, her I.D. tags would be either hidden or deleted completely, but for this meeting she had agreed to have the data attached to her ship for Wolf's insurance – and her own best interests. The _Playful End_ it was named.

_Fitting_, Wolf thought.

The ship's momentum slowed until it was at a crawl, and then came to a halt not far from the _Red Fang_'s nose. Wolf keyed into the _Playful End_'s communications channel but left the static to stir around a nauseating swell in Cass's stomach for a bit. He knew she'd be the first to speak; for her own peace of mind to dismiss the possibility of anything wrong.

"I'm certain you've done this more times than eat a space dinner hotshot, so let's not pretend we're first-time thieves. Dislodge the goods, give them to mama" Cass said with a sense of authority and calmness Wolf hadn't expected. He could make out the shoulders and head of the avian in the _Playful End_'s cockpit, and her beak made large movements when she talked. She looked at Wolf, and in return he nodded. With a tug, he released a level beside his flight seat. The _Red Fang_'s cover plating of the forward underside compartment slid open, and a mechanical arm lowered a grey cargo crate into Cass's line of sight. Wolf watched her closely, and sensed that for someone who had just swindled one of the most wanted pirates in the Lylat System, Cass was unusually calm. He was beginning to wonder whether the weapons on her ship were even armed. The mechanical arm released the crate, and from Cass's ship, a green tractor beam that resembled a strike of lightning caught in stasis sucked it into possession. The crate was pulled to the underside of Cass's hull, and that's when her business associates took action. Wolf engaged his cannons but wouldn't release any singular shots; he charged each of the guns until temperamental balls of emerald plasma sizzled at the tips of both. Wolf thumbed down his target-lock switch on his control yolk and watched Cass look up at her heads-up-display. Wolf imagined it was saying something helpful such as 'enemy lock'.

"I have a lock on our secondary target" Krystal's voice came over the comm. channel.

When Cass objected her voice was dumbfounded and hysterical.

"Even _I_ thought prize and purge was above Star-Wolf!" she cried.

"Well, that's the thing isn't it, Cass? There was _no_ prize" Wolf replied. "And if you don't come up with the money you and your cargo are space dust. You're not getting any second chances, so pick your next words very carefully."

"Don't make us do this" Krystal said. Wolf could tell what the vixen was thinking – she didn't want this to end in bloodshed. However, Wolf knew that sometimes fate turned sour and there wasn't anything one could do about it.

"That can't be right… there _has_ to be funds in that account! There's no way…"

"The innocent pledge never works with me, Cass. I'm a man who either gets my money, or another dead pilot painted on my fuselage. So what'll it be?" Wolf questioned relentlessly. His fingers created invisible circles on the trigger as he swirled them around, toying with the idea of turning Cass's ship into a satisfying fireworks display.

"I… He _lied_ to me! Wolf! You must believe me!" Cass frantically yelped. Her voice had reached the stages of someone living the final moments of their life – Wolf had heard it many times before. He also knew Krystal wouldn't hold out for long, and would attempt a tricky maneuver to appease both players in the deal. But there was no mending a gaping wound such as this one, and therefore there was no time left to spare.

A second tractor beam latched onto the grey supply crate and pulled it away from the standoff, dragging it through Sector X toward a much larger ship. Wolf's fingers almost crunched down on the trigger as his nerves jolted. He turned his head to look out his starboard side and saw a ship in the distance he recognized as the _Lone Star_.

"What the…" he mumbled, disillusioned. "That's the Luperium's ship!"

"After them!" Krystal shouted. She was quicker to react than her captain was, and swung the nose of her ship to starboard and slammed her sublight drives on full. Wolf was slow to react but engaged his engines with full energy capacity, and pursued the pickpockets as well as his wingman. Cass's ship remained stationary, and was soon left far behind.

"What just happened!?" Wolf barked angrily. "We had her!"

"Well now we've got bigger problems, Wolf. We haven't got a chance claiming our cargo back from a ship that size _if_ they get it inside!"

"No" Wolf quickly affirmed. "No, we don't."

He closed his four-fins into a bladed position, which enabled the sublight drives to push out more energy for faster flight. He poked commands into his navigational computer, and adjusted the _Red Fang_'s flight vector to allow for a more direct route to the _Lone Star_ itself.

"What are you doing!?" Krystal questioned frenetically. "We've got to stop them!"

"Forget about the smaller ships. We're docking with that mother-ship. Are we clear, Krystal?"

"But…"

"Are we _clear_, Krystal?"

There was no reply through the comm. channel but Wolf noticed her swift change in trajectory toward the _Lone Star_. Having superior engines to the Luperium fighters, the Star-Wolf ships were quick to overtake their foes. Wolf watched eyed up one of the ships as he rocketed past it, only for a moment. It was a bright yellow, and also sparked a vile memory in his mind.

_Pigma Dengar you swine!_

Wolf examined the rigid surface of the _Lone Star_ when he and Krystal drew near and swept up along side it. Both ships rolled up on their starboard fins, ready for a hasty getaway if necessary.

"Krystal, do you see anything?"

"There's an entrance coming up along the underside, stay close and slow down" she systematically replied.

"Following your lead" Wolf said promptly. He cut down the thrust to his sublight drives by lowering the stumpy black speed lever to the left side of the dashboard and the _Red Fang_'s fins tilted upward slightly to contribute toward the slowing process. Wolf caught a faint light emitting from somewhere along the _Lone Star_'s hull, and assumed it to be the opening Krystal had been referring to. He banked up on Krystal's port, allowing little more than half a meter airspace between the _Lone Star_ and Krystal's ship, and then tightly pulled into what he discovered was a small docking bay.

Arctirus flipped a silver coin over the top of his knuckles and gazed at it peculiarly as if contemplating what hidden agendas the coin had in mind. His powerful hands then caressed the handrail running across the front of the upper deck. Rufus Haze stood below him, hands placed on his hips, silently studying the two StarWolf members whom had entered the _Lone Star_'s docking bay uninvited.

Krystal hadn't met these two intimidating and licentious characters before, however she did her best to ignore their condescending stares as she disembarked from her ship.

Wolf was already out, standing loosely in the docking bay, ready to dart for cover if necessary. His right hand swung back and forth as if to appear carefree, though it never strayed far from his holstered blaster pistol. Krystal remained close to the _Cloud Runner_, and chose not to give the impression of cowardice by scuttling to her captain's side. She did spare him a glance though, whether it was for orders or just to check his posture – she didn't quite know. Wolf had a look about him Krystal was familiar with but had witnessed infrequently, his shoulders were slumped, his chin was high and his eyes were wide open and bloodcurdling, as if he were psychotic. It was the guise Wolf took when he was prepared to kill with little appreciation for his own limitations.

When Arctirus broke the silence he was still amusing himself with the silver coin dancing across his knuckles.  
"Captain O'Donnell," he said, "Did you decide to drop in because of our renowned hospitality?"

"No" Wolf replied, harshly and quickly. Behind the large monocle shielding the bear's left eye, a deep brown iris tightened around its pupil. Arctirus's head shifted backward like Wolf's reply was an aggressive projectile.

"Why are you here?" Rufus spoke up, preferring to cut to the chase.

"This wasn't part of the agreement. You gave _us_ the cargo, remember? I don't know what kind of circus you think you have running here Arctirus, but I don't like being given the run around. Why didn't you just kill us, and keep the cargo?"

"The cargo was merely a diversion, O'Donnell" Arctirus said calmly, adding scales to his voice to give it a touch of empathy. "You see, this way, I've put in motion a series of events. One of them – was the little friendship I developed with your comrade Caroso. The others - well… I can't disclose them at this moment in time. But I assure you, it _was_ fun."

The last sentenced forced a chuckle out of Rufus, now learning against the side of a stairwell puffing on some Dragon Rock spice. Wolf frowned as Arctirus's convoluted schemes perplexed him.

"I know about Panther, he's off the team."

"It matters not, now" Arctirus said carelessly. He offered Wolf a shrug, as if to say 'oh well', and started to make his way down to the two Star-Wolf pilots from the upper deck. "I'm sorry Wolf, but the deal had to change. Another player entered the game… I'm sure you know who he is."

"Pigma."

"Yes, Pigma Dengar. And my newfound friend in Mister Dengar can assist me in a great many things. I think one of the core strengths of being a capable leader, especially in one such as myself, is the ability to cease as many opportunities as possible."

Arctirus's footsteps were heavy and sloppy as he descended the patched and tarnished stairs. They had a washed-out look just like the rest of the ship's innards. "Then of course, there was the issue with that General Scales fellow."

Krystal's ears perched up as alarm klaxons rang in her head at the mention of the old general.

"That devious reptile is a menace, even to a crimelord like yourself!" Krystal yelped. The three others looked at her with surprise. An amused smile – the one a parent would give to their child – came from Arctirus as he arrived before the two of them. Wolf's muzzle wrinkled, and slowly he was giving in to the temptation of blowing these space pirates to hell with his blaster.

"You really are enjoying this, aren't you?" Wolf growled as he took note of Arctirus's reaction.

"I'm proud of my work."

Krystal signaled for Arctirus's attention.

"So what was in the cargo, hmm? What did you need to acquire for General Scales, in order for him to do some variety of dirty work so those lovely bright white hands of yours can stay clean?"

"You didn't open it yourself, Wolf?"

"It was what I presumed to be a straight forward business deal. The less I know about what's in a package, the less I have to tell the authorities."

"Well" Arctirus announced, clasping his hands together. "I can understand that."

"Are we going to tell them what's in the package, boss?" Rufus asked as he blew out a tornado of orange curling smoke. "These two must be confused, it would be a token of good will to let them know what's going on here."

Arctirus, not taking his eyes of Wolf, nodded in won over agreement.

"And as I have further use for you yet O'Donnell, I believe that token is in order."

"You stole cargo, passed it onto me, only to steal it back again. I'm done with your games" Wolf said.

Wolf flicked out his blaster so fast, it went from being a dormant threat to a hungry demon ready to take life with a slight squeeze of the trigger. The pistol performed several acrobatics in mid-air until it came to rest in Wolf's grasp, aimed directly between Arctirus's eyes. The bear seemed a little phased at the minor obstacle, but wasn't about to start pleading for his life. "And I want my twenty-five thousand credits. Cornerian currency would be preferable."

"I can understand that" Arctirus said. "But you're hardly in a position to be making demands."

A loud crackle boomed of the hangar walls as quickly as Arctirus had finished his sentence, and a scorching red laser bolt had created an indent on the floor plating just shy of reaching the bear's left boot.

"I want my money."

"Ah yes, O'Donnell. But…"

Another blast echoed and screeched throughout the hangar as it seared the hangar floor neighboring with Arctirus's right boot. Rufus had been subdued during the first shot, but the second was causing him to shuffle about nervously. The feline repeatedly glanced over at his captain to take some kind of action. The Dragon Rock spice stick that was in his mouth previously had dropped to the floor and burned itself out.

"My aim's a little off today but I think with this next shot I'll have it back" Wolf said. Holding out the pistol at arm's length, he raised his brow suggestively and titled his head forward.

"Do you want to know where your keepsake is or not?" Arctirus said.

"Keepsake?" Krystal asked. She turned to Wolf in her confusion. "You mean the deal with this… _pirate_ was never about money?"

"It's about something that's worth more to money than me" Wolf replied. But he hadn't lowered his pistol, and was carefully considering his next move. "But… I'm beginning to doubt the Luperium's integrity. If I've spent my life looking for it, then how was this man able to discover it upon deciding to use me in one of his deals?"

"Oh, so that's it. You don't _trust _me" Arctirus said. He opened his arms out wide, as if to take Wolf into a warm embrace, but remained still. "Give him the key, Rufus."

Without taking his pistol's barrel off Arctirus, Wolf looked over at Rufus. The smoky-colored feline dressed in an ancient fashion consisting of an olive trench coat and matching trousers, tossed a shimmering object through the air. With his free hand, Wolf reached out to catch it, stepping to the left slightly. He brought it up to his eyes and saw that it was indeed a key, old and rusted but still shiny in the occasional spot. It was originally a gold color, about the size of Wolf's blaster pistol, and bent near the handle. Wolf killed his curiosity for the object momentarily as he lobbed his pistol toward Krystal and motioned for her to point it at Arctirus. She caught it and did so, but spared several glances at the artifact resting in Wolf's palms. He ran his fingers along the key's shafts, feeling all the dents and craters of metal that had been chipped away over time.

"What is this?"

"Well it's a key, isn't it?" Arctirus replied. Wolf spared his eyes to watch Arctirus for a moment, expecting to receive more comprehensive information regarding the key, but the bear was quiet.

"Where does it go?"

"That's the other half of the deal, O'Donnell."

Krystal noticed the stressful sigh Wolf released as he tucked away the key into his utility belt. It was the kind of sigh Wolf shared with those around him when he was about to something that went against the code he lived by.

"I'll get the money?"

"No. You get the information. The money's gone Wolf… It's not my fault that short-changing avian didn't pay you. What was her name? Rico? Take your quarrel up with her."

Wolf's fangs emerged from the sides of his mouth as he bit down on his lower lip. He was desperate for the money, but would have to suck it out of Rico at a later date. Either way, there was no money to be won here, so its impact on the decision was irrelevant.

"Wolf" Krystal beaconed. His eyes gravely met hers. "We don't know what these pirates are scheming. I want to know what's in that cargo before we go any further… otherwise it may prove to be an obstacle for us in the long run."

Wolf turned to Arctirus and jilted his head toward Krystal.

"You heard her."

"I thought you'd never ask" Arctirus smiled.

Pigma Dengar resisted making cocky comments toward his former partner, as Wolf O'Donnell did his best to ignore the hog's shuffling about. The group of shady oddballs were situated outside Pigma's yellow assemblage of spare parts he called a 'ship'. Arctirus stood before the black oblong shaped crate – he was the closest – and he had motioned for Rufus to keep the others at bay until he decided they could have a peak at the cargo. Rufus brought a blaster out of hiding from somewhere beneath his overzealous olive coat, and pointed it in Krystal's and Wolf's direction, not aiming for either one of them particular. Wolf noted the feline's aim was about as straight as his will to abide by Lylatian law, and pulling the trigger would do more harm to the _Lone Star_'s interior rather than the two Star-Wolf pilots.

"Sorry."

Rufus shrugged as he apologized. "It's just a formality, nothing personal."

Wolf nodded and looked to Arctirus, who was running his claws across the side of the heavy duty casing. It was locked by an older security system, though to the current day it still remained one of the most impervious. An old combination keypad system, with a set of numbers presented on a control panel across the front of the crate. Arctirus looked Wolf in the eye as he punched in the correct digits with a claw.

There was a brief silence after the final 'bleep', that Krystal found seemed to last for minutes. Pigma was eyeing Wolf closely, whereas Wolf's singular eye was glued on Arctirus. Rufus still had the blaster pointed shabbily toward Krystal and Wolf, though he was now focused on the opening of the crate. Arctirus was careful about his timing when he opened the crate so he could analyze Star-Wolf's reactions thoroughly.

The crate's top unfolded neatly, and a cyan radiance illuminated all the participants' faces. The reactions of Pigma and Rufus suggested that only their superior had truly known the contents of the package, and both of them crept forth closer to examine the crate's possession. Krystal was transfixed on the crate as it opened, and her face became taught with concern upon seeing what was inside. On the contrary, Wolf was blank and he looked to Krystal for an explanation – though she remained silent and still. Arctirus then pressed a button to slide the top shut, and the light that was present in the hangar only moments ago was eradicated.

"What is it?" Wolf asked.

"It's valuable, but is it a threat to you, O'Donnell?"

"I don't see how it could be."

"Correct" Arctirus said. "Now we have an understanding."

The last leg of the _Red Fang_'s run was a short one, so _Plan B_ wasn't far off. However, Krystal had maintained radio silence the entire journey back home, in spite of Wolf's questions. The two ships approached the ice-field in which _Plan B_ was located in the center of, and Wolf flicked on his comm. channel one last time.

"I'd rather hear it from you than anyone else. What was it, Krystal?" he asked. As the ships soared side by side, avoiding collections of ice floating through space, Krystal finally came up with something to say.

"I have to go to Sauria."


	17. A Forbidden Alliance

**Cass Rico – Sector X Airspace**

Cass Rico had tried every trick that was within her knowledge of space-craft navigational systems to try and track the elusive _Lone Star_. Looking down at her dash read-outs, she spotted Corneria City local time – 0400 hours. She had sent through emergency transmissions back to the _Corsair_ space station over an hour ago, and still she had not received a reply. The possibility crossed her mind that perhaps the dreaded Luperium ship, seemingly full of surprises, may have been equipped with some kind of communications jammer. She sighed to herself, though chuckled a few moments later.

_Just when you think you've got everyone beat in the technology department, a flying tree log teaches you a lesson._

As she programmed her flight path into monotonous spherical patterns around Sector X, she was beginning to feel that all effort was useless. There would be no reward out of this sham. Well, maybe _death_ at some point.

A welcoming beep from her radar. Cass looked down wide-eyed and felt her spirits lift slightly. Ships, with tags – _Corsair_ tags. She used her thumb on the cockpit touch-screen to open up a channel with the leader.

"I can only assume you're not here for the pretty lights" she said.

"Cap'n, we came as soon as we could."

"I've sent you three transmissions. The first was over an hour ago, and you're in the same region of space. What's the problem?" Cass griped. There was a delayed reply, and when the pilot's voice came back to her, he was clearly confused.

"Cap'n, we received your message about twenty minutes ago."

Cass snarled.

_Communications jammer alright._

Upon the wooden wall of Arctirus's office, was a vivid combination of diagrams, photographs and words, all projected from a holo-projector on the opposite side of the room. Arctirus had laid his mass down on chair which couldn't accommodate the entirety of his torso, so parts of it sagged out on either side. Nevertheless he was comfortable, and captivated by the information made available before him. It wasn't relevant to his plans which would unfold over the coming weeks – it was a comprehensive study of the evolution of underwater life on the planet of Aquas. In the last hour he had been through eleven documents specifically analyzing the living habits of various amphibious species, some of which were believed to be the prior forms of more intelligent races that were currently colonizing on other planets.

Rufus Haze had been standing in his doorway for the better part of a minute before the bear even became aware of his presence. It was Rufus who spoke first.

"You could sit there, reading your paragraphs and looking at your pretty pictures all day, couldn't you?"

Rufus had spoken colloquially, not formerly. Because there wasn't a 'crew' in the traditional sense aboard the _Lone Star_, there were few who saw the two pirates face to face. Arctirus wasn't so much of a captain to Rufus than he was a business partner. The bear had been caught off guard by Rufus's voice. He didn't fright, but there was an instant of hostility in the captain's eyes.

"Knowledge is power" Arctirus replied, resting back in his chair and shrugging. "Sounds ridiculous I know… but there's no other way to put it."

He leaned forward, spreading some of his gargantuan figure over the desk before him, swathing it with his natural fleece. An all-knowing smile was presented to Rufus. "For the last eight months, I have been researching, learning, planning… sometimes for days at a time without sleep. I can sit here and indulge myself because I have _earned _it – and because our plan is ingenious. I've done the numbers… the calculations… it is truly flawless. _This _is the Luperium's legacy… the perfection of anticipation."

Rufus took in Arctirus's words but didn't take them at face value. As he leaned against a maple-colored bulkhead he challenged the self-proclaimed genius.

"I worry that you become so confident you take certain risk in your actions" Rufus stated. He raised his left shoulder and tilted his head, as if to imply to Arctirus that his words were only opinion. The bear was open to scrutiny.

"Such as?"

Rufus didn't beat around the bush.

"Why did you show them what was in the crate?"

Arctirus raised a finger with delight.

"Ah! My dear Rufus, you are misled! This was completely intentional."

He stopped and browsed across his shelf of beverages not far from the holo-projector. He felt a shot of novelty pulse through his veins as he spotted the bottle of Fichina blend that O'Donnell had requested when he first boarded the ship. He grasped the bottle with conviction and began preparing himself a drink. He gestured to his partner, but Rufus declined.

"It's funny, how many people there are on Corneria" he said, watching the liquid stream into the glass then swirl once it hit the bottom. "So many people… so much potential willpower there. But individuality has become its own worst enemy, Rufus. How can one be free if he is too preoccupied with the freedom he takes for granted and chooses not change the course of history? Cornerians… Venomians… a living hypocrisy."

"I've lost you."

"No you haven't. You can see it now – it's how we make our living. The Cornerian Army, the Venomian Army… so many people, so many soliders, pilots… commanders… yet the entire balance of the Lylat System depends only on the few who won't follow the rules, the few who take matters into their own hands based on the morals that they choose, that they are so convinced are _right_. Who won the Venomian war? Corneria? No…"

Arctirus swallowed some of his drink and then looked at the glass for a few moments, until the liquor inside had finished rippling.

"No… McCloud and his band of do-gooders. McCloud… O'Donnell… It's people like them that control the fate of the Lylat and the most ironic, most hilarious and magnificent part is – they don't even _realize_ it! Hah!"

Rufus watched the captain of the _Lone Star_ transform into something wicked. Into something soulless. His gaze upon the glass become both mesmerizing, and terrifying. If Arctirus had ever had morals, as he was describing – what kind _were_ they? Furthermore, were they still in the room? As the large being lost himself somewhere in the ocean inside his glass, Rufus caught a glimpse of what Arctirus would do if he ever acquired the same influence McCloud or O'Donnell unknowingly had. There was no room for mercy in his vision, none at all. The fire inside of the ship's captain seemed to expire and turn into smoke as he brought himself out of his trance and met eyes with Rufus.

"I showed them what was in the crate because now instead of dealing with four members of Star-Wolf, we deal with two distracted ones."

Rufus had a frown upon his face, and was quiet for a few moments until his mind up to date with the conversation.

"Krystal?"

"Yes" Arctirus replied. "She can not resist her need to protect the weak."

"Alright" Rufus nodded. "But what about Star-Fox?"

"Star-Fox…" Arctirus murmured, trying to suppress a smile like the giddiness inside him was about to erupt in a volley of laughter. "I'm going to dissect McCloud and Lombardi's hopes before I step on

them and crush them."

In comparison to the mammoth skyscrapers joining forces to oppress small business, the _Lakeside Diner_ was a bullied child. The light of Corneria City's morning son caught the eastern edge of the roofing, but the rest of the boxy building was cast in the shadow of the surrounding enterprises. The diner had done well over the years; Fox remembered when the business had first begun when he was fifteen. It was still there, it was still busy, and they still made a damn good breakfast.

Unfortunately, the quality of breakfast to be consumed wasn't the primary concern of both Falco and Fox. The two stood across the street from the diner, sporting expensive sunglasses and dressed in civilian garments as to be hidden to the public eye. Fox was still wearing a scraggy jacket he'd picked up from pawn shop a day ago, whereas Falco wouldn't be caught dead without his rawhide black jacket. Falco strongly believed that if you were famous, you had to honor the word – even in disguise.

"What do you think? You think they're inside already" Fox asked his counterpart.

"Wolf, yes. We both know that… Leon? Probably not. He's probably sitting atop one of these buildings, waiting to shoot you in the hide" Falco replied. Fox grunted a laugh and waited for a group of amphibians to walk by before speaking.

"If he wants to shoot anyone, it's you."

Falco nodded.

"That's why you're the one going in the diner."

The two stood silent for around two minutes, analyzing the area and the people in it. If it was a setup, it was a very good one.

"Why do you think he wants to talk to us? Are you sure it wasn't a fake transmission, Fal?"

"It's legit, Foxie. Trust me. Who knows why he wants to talk, but he _does_. Maybe he's come to his senses… again."  
"Hmmm…"

Fox finally mustered up the courage to take a step out onto the road, watching for passing hovercrafts before he crossed.

"If anything happens…" he called out. Falco shrugged when he didn't finish off his sentence.

"If anything happens what?"

Fox turned around and started walking backwards across the street.

"I… actually don't know" he said helplessly. Falco grinned. Hell, they were Star-Fox – they'd be alright.

Fox waited for the door of the diner to slide open automatically upon getting close. It let off a friendly series of electronic beeps and squeaks like it had its own personality, and a stake in the business earnings. Inside, the old design force-field windows dimmed the outside world considerably, and suddenly Fox found it slightly harder to see with the sunglasses on. He didn't remove them though, and was glad he had not when about twenty of the patrons came into view. They were not any species in particular, just ordinary people going about their lives before work at 0800 on a weekday. Most of them were seated at various retro-styled tables around the diner, but a few were standing by the counter awaiting their daily shot of caffeine. In spite of the circumstances, Fox found the aroma of the diner tempting.

In the unwritten book of meeting with your arch nemesis, there were a set of rules that applied when meeting in a public place. Rule number one – always pick a corner. Fox often wondered if this was the wisest choice of spots but that's how they'd always done it in storybooks – it had always worked for them. Rule number two was to have a reason for being in that particular spot, whether it be reading an old-fashioned newspaper, sipping on a hot drink or smoking a stick of spice. This one was to avoid any unwanted attention, after all if someone was in a corner all by themselves doing absolutely nothing then one would tend to wonder what he or she was doing there. Rule number three – to be armed with an unnecessary array of weapons ready to blast your opponent and completely desecrate the environment around you, not taking into account any civilian casualties that may occur. The catch to rule number three was that it never happened at the time of the meeting – this would only happen later when obstructions are present and killing your foe is tenfold more difficult than it would have been to do it at the cafeteria, the train station, the park… wherever.

Fox pulled a cheap red diner chair out from under its table and sat himself opposite Wolf O'Donnell, who had been eyeing the vulpine ever since he had entered the premises. Wolf's eye patch would have screamed his identity of bystanders, so he had taken it off and niftily covered his eyes with some sunglasses. They were very tinted, and subtly Fox had tried to sneak a peek at the old wound beneath to no avail. Just once he would have liked to see it – to look his opponent in both eyes. Wolf was wearing a long-sleeved navy blue shirt with a couple of buttons undone near the collar, revealing some lighter shades of chest fur beginning at the bottom of his neck. Two of the Lylat's most notorious mercenaries and they looked like they were just starting college.

There were no words between the two, they evaluated each other in silence; what weapons they were carrying, whether they had backup and where it was, how expensive each other's clothing was. Fox had lost in that particular department. Wolf cleared his throat, leaned forward and raised his brow as a means of greeting.

"Well, here we are again" the bigger vulpine said.

"Never gets old with you, Wolf" Fox replied quickly, slightly hostile. Wolf smirked and shrugged his comment of with a chuckle, but the Star-Fox captain pressed on. "No really… One minute we're fighting side by side to save Corneria… the next you're trying to shoot me out of the sky. Having you around is like a box of chocolates."

Wolf stared his foe down for a moment, pondering whether to snap his neck or offer to buy him breakfast.

"You want to know why you're here – yes, we'll get to that. Where's Lombardi?"

"Oh, he's around" Fox said. "Where's Powalski?"

"Probably trying to find Lombardi" Wolf replied, signaling for the waitress to take orders. The canine suddenly appeared in Fox's vision by Wolf's side and she asked them what they'd like to order. She was a looker too, but Fox only had eyes for one girl, and she was long gone.

"Two lakeside omelets, with that special sauce you do."

"And coffee, sir?" the waitress asked.

"Two, please."

"Would you like…"

"Whatever you want to put in it" Wolf cut her off. Her eyes didn't leave the holo-pad she was writing on with her stylus; obviously she was accustomed to customer irritation. She left and Wolf placed his elbows on the table, turning his attention back to Fox. "I needed to talk to you. It seems we have a mutual friend."

There were a handful of possibilities but contestant number one shot out of mouth.

"The Luperium, it seems."

"Right" Wolf nodded, clicking his fingers together and interlocking them. Fox swallowed hard. From here on in he wouldn't be able to trust much of what Wolf would say, it was possible that the Luperium had already got to him and were pulling the strings on his every move. Fox narrowed his eyes and pried at Wolf for answers.

"Just how well do you know our mutual friend, Wolf?"

Wolf shrugged.

"More than I'd like, that's for damn sure. The man's torn my group apart, had Panther doing petty freighter hits. I need him out of the game, and so do you."

Fox shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the proposition.

"That's true, I can accept that. Easier done together than alone" he said. Wolf almost smiled.

"But you're not going to won over that easily now, are you?"

"Well pardon me if I caused you any offense but you almost killed me last week."

"You think I'd kill you, Fox?" Wolf asked slyly. The question lingered between the two mercenaries. Fox considered his words and placed a closed hand beneath his muzzle. _Do I think you'd kill me, Wolf? I look into that face of yours and all I can see is a cold lust for vengeance, for what? For being born? Why do you hate the universe so much, yet fight to save it when it counts?_

Fox didn't have an answer for Wolf's beautifully crafted conversation stopper, so he remained quiet. Wolf however, had plenty more to say.

"I might lower those shields down to the brink of destruction, but I wouldn't take the final shot. I thought I could… I really did… until Venom… those days ago. I put it down to the excuse of not facing you in a fair fight but what it _really_ was… I'm still yet to decide."

Wolf may as well have been on the verge of madness.

"I don't believe you" Fox said blandly, dismissing his reflections as rubbish.

"Oh but you _do_ Fox, you _do_. You write me off as some psychopathic lunatic who has some glimpse of compassion for the innocent that crops up conveniently when you need it do, and you've never second guessed it, have you?"

"You _are_ a lunatic."

"Maybe so" Wolf continued, raising his whispers to a held back growl. "I'm a bad person, I've done bad things and continue to do them without remorse. That is the Wolf O'Donnell this galaxy knows and fears. But Fox… You see, if _you_ fail, then there's nothing left for me to win. Do you understand that?"

Fox had always treated good and evil like shades of colors when it came to Wolf O'Donnell. Wolf was the tyranny that wreaked havoc on Lylat, and Fox was merely only a man who had the courage to stop him – nothing heroic, he just believed in doing what was right. And now here that villain was, that old murderous pirate, confessing to his adversary that he was effectively his closest friend. _What in hell to make of all this…_

Wolf withdrew from the tabletop and leaned back in his chair. To Fox he seemed like a speck of his corrupted morale was vulnerable, the first the vulpine had ever seen of it; the weakness beneath all that blunt exterior. It was a vulnerability that struck more fear into the heart of Fox than being shot at in the clouds ever could. _Is this the man that is determining my life, just as I am determining his?_

No. It couldn't be.

"You cannot compare us."

"Why do you think I fight for you when you cannot go any further alone?"

"I'm never alone."

Wolf chuckled.

"But your friends have abandoned you, Fox!" he announced louder than Fox would have liked. "Where's the toad? Where's the woman you thought would be by your side for the rest of your life?"

"Don't you _dare_ bring Krystal into this! The thought of her mingling with your kind alone is enough to have me itching at my blaster to blow your head clean off!" Fox yelled.

The diner went quiet at the vulpine's bellowing and it was then when the waitress arrived with the omelets and coffee that Wolf had ordered a few minutes beforehand. As eyes from around the diner peered at Fox and Wolf like predators observing prey, the canine gently set the food and drink down on the tabletop, pretending to be oblivious to what was happening. She then scooted away. Fox could see a frown behind Wolf's sunglasses and at the bottom of his muzzle a couple of bared teeth.

"I think it's time to go" Wolf grimaced.

Leaning against a railing separating Fox from the ocean, the captain had managed to calm himself to a state where he was able to listen to Wolf's reasoning. The ocean carried a swift breeze upon the shore, sending ripples through the fur upon Fox's face. It also carried a salty scent which crept its way up his nostrils. Wolf's logic seemed reasonable, but trusting him was a gamble larger than taking on the Luperium. As Wolf spoke, he peered to the horizon where the sea met with the sky and let the warmth of the sun soak into his face.

"They'll be hunting you until we put an end to Arctirus, those bounty hunters" Wolf said.

"_You'll_ be hunting me until the end of time."

"Touché. But you've got more to think about than just my life and yours."

Fox frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Krystal, she's wrapped up in this too. Arctirus scared her good with whatever was in that package of his… Maybe if I can't convince you to help me, I can convince you to help _her_."

Fox felt his grip on the handrail tighten until his fingers ached. If it hadn't been for Wolf in the first place, maybe Krystal wouldn't have ended up in this mess.

"What package?" he asked in monotone.

"I don't know what it was, some kind of relic. She took off, Fox – to Sauria."

_Relic? Sauria? This can't be good._ But Krystal had contacts on Sauria, at least. There was the EarthWalker prince, Prince Tricky and the CloudRunner royal liaison, Terry Dactyl. Fox was more than confident that between the EarthWalker and the CloudRunner tribes, she would be kept safe – but from what?

"Then I have to go to Sauria" Fox declared, removing his hands from the rail.

"You can't, Fox. Even if she did want your help – which she won't – you've got problems here, on Corneria" Wolf said, stopping the vulpine from moving further. "Arctirus has a plan to assassinate one of the chancellors, Sullivan. We need to stop it, or this planet will be one step closer to going to war."

Fox's eyes widened and he nervously combed an open palm over the top of his scalp. Arctirus would be framing the Venomians no doubt, and if he did not have success with Sullivan then his next target would most certainly be the Commander-In-Chief herself.

_But is he telling the truth?_

"If I'm stuck here then I can't help Krystal regardless… and besides, how did you get this information?"

"Leon – you know what he's like with computers."

Something about it didn't sound right; the information had conveniently fallen into the wrong hands at the right time. _But I can't afford to take that chance_.

"Well… do you have a plan?"

"Of course. Marco has called a press conference in six hours time; doesn't that sound a little expedient?"

"The Lavender-Ring?"

"Yes. Our assassin might try and snipe it or go in close… Which one you cover is up to you."

Fox took into consideration his options and looked out at a few hovercrafts on a fishing expedition a few klicks out from the shore. They moved slower than Star-Fox's aquamarine and would make boring target practice. Fox thumbed the Star-Fox insignia hanging by a chain around his neck, seeking his late father's advice. _If it were you, would you take the chance?_

"What will it be?" Wolf asked.

"Well…" Fox sighed, bringing his face out of the oncoming flurry of wind, "You leave me with no choice, I'll take the sniper position. There's no way I'm getting pinned down in amongst all those people to risk my neck for _you_, Wolf" Fox said. _But maybe that's what you want me to do._


End file.
